


Red Skies Above, Black Streets Below

by littleharrylover



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction, Peaky Blinders, larrystylinson - Fandom
Genre: 1920s, AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, England (Country), Mild Blood, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Peaky Blinders - Freeform, tommy shelby - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 38,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleharrylover/pseuds/littleharrylover
Summary: Louis Tomlinson is a hardman with allegiance only for his job, and Harry Styles is an egocentric playboy with a gun.or: a Peaky Blinders au.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> hello, and welcome to yet another work!  
> this work is inspired by peaky blinders, an incredible show based in post-WWI England. there will be references based on the show, and the real life ‘peaky blinders’. NOTE: i have taken creative liberty with a few things, including tattoos, historical events, and ages.   
> any/all potential trigger warnings are listed below!  
> a huge thank you to leah (@killmysugarr) for being the push to start/complete this fic. i hope you love her. ♥️
> 
> TWs: - mentions of death / blood / violence  
> \- scenes of mildy-graphic sexual activity

**L**

_He's a god, he's a man_

_He's a ghost, he's a guru_

_They're whispering his name_

_Through this disappearing land_

_But hidden in his coat_

_Is a red right hand_

_Red Right Hand - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds _

  
  


Louis loves the sea. 

Louis loves the smell of it, pungent with salty death. Louis loves the way it screams at night as the wind whips it into the rocks. Louis loves the turbulent, wild waves, crisp tipped with white foam that leaves residue on his scuffed boots.

Louis takes a hard drag of his cigarette as he stares out at the blue-black water, his other hand stuffed tightly in the pocket of his thick, wool coat. He doesn’t have long to sit by the sea today. He has a job across town, but as he feels the tobacco burn the back of his throat, he exhales, watching the smoke disappear in the crisp October wind. 

“Only two months left of 1919, Louis. There’s gonna be a whole new fuckin decade upon us soon, and here we are, still getting slagged off by a bloke with barely a year on me.” Niall had grumbled, his brown hair flopping into his face as he sat bent over his handgun, scowling as he buffed out the scratch in the mahogany coloured wood. 

Louis had chuckled, taking a pull from his cigarette as he sat in the windowsill, and shrugged. “Simon will be back soon, and we won’t have to worry about it anymore. Don’t worry, mate, he’s all piss and wind.” Louis had flicked the ashes from his cigarette, and had watched them drift slowly down to the rich red carpet below him. He watched them fade from bright orange to deep yellow, until they were cold and grey at his feet. 

For good measure, he had dug his heel into them, grinding them into the ground. 

Louis sighs, feeling his fingers warm as the burning end creeps closer to his skin, and he flicks the cigarette to the gravelly beach, exhaling one last time. He pulls his cap off of his head, feeling the wind blow against his forehead as he runs a hand through his tawny hair.

He usually didn’t mind Simon being gone, but this time was different. Everyone had been at each other’s throats lately, and it was all Louis could do to keep the peace, since Simon’s second-in-command couldn’t be dicked to help. 

Louis fights to keep from pettily rolling his eyes as he makes his way back up the shoreline, kicking at stones. They haven’t seen heads or tails of Liam Payne for almost three days, and Louis was more than a little annoyed. They’d talked about having a local check the police station, just in case, but they would have heard about it by now. 

( _“One of Simon’s men in jail? We’d have to scrub the streets clean for weeks after that bloodbath.”_ )

Coming over the ridge he can see his car parked away from the road, and he tightens his coat around him as a gust of wind picks up. 

England during the winter was brutal, and post-war England was no exception. All around them, the people of England were trying to rebuild their lives, and do whatever they could to survive without the friends, family, and resources they once had.

When Churchill had set Inspector Campbell on the Shelby’s after they had commandeered all those guns, Simon had gone on the defensive. “The Shelby’s are strong, but reckless. They’re going to end up tearing each other apart someday, and we’ll have to pick up the pieces.” Simon had told Louis, sat securely behind his lavish desk as Louis stood in front of him, the eyes of two more of Simon’s men baring holes in Louis’ back. Simon had stared Louis down as he took a puff from his cigar, and Louis had felt the subliminal messaging in his gaze. 

_Don’t let me down, Louis. Do what it takes to keep us alive._

Louis had heard those words before, and he had failed then. He wouldn’t be failing now.

A loud crack of thunder echoes across the sky as Louis reaches his car, pulling the door open as he swings into the seat, leather groaning beneath him. He winces against his own will as the car rumbles around him, and his mind flashes him back to another day with dark, stormy skies, with a gun in his hand, and blood in his eyes, and-

“Fuck off.” Louis curses his own mind, and slams his car into gear before peeling down the road, leaving the screams and gunshots behind him in the dust. 

_“You never stop and think, Louis. You need to learn how to get your head straight and keep it there, we can’t afford anyone who could be a weak link._

_“I understand sir, I just-“_

_“No excuses, Private. I know that what happened was… unfortunate. But you need to move past it. There is no room for error here._

_Am I making myself clear, Tomlinson?”_

_“Understood, sir.”_

The job is quick and easy. 

Louis is wiping the blood from the inside of a car windscreen when he remembers to check the time. 

“Shit, fuck, damn, shit.” Louis scrambles to finish wiping the glass, shoving the handgun back in his pocket as he takes one last glance around him, noting with satisfaction that the car seemingly looks cleaner than it did before he entered. 

Pushing the door open, he looks around him before exiting, keeping an eye on his surroundings as he quickly makes his way to his own vehicle, located covertly in an alleyway across from a warehouse on the wharf. 

Once he is back in the safety of his own car, he lets out a deep sigh, roughly pushing his hand through his hair as he looks at himself in the rear view mirror. 

His hair is getting longer, his tight side shave fuzzier than he likes. The circles under his eyes have seemingly become a permanent fixture in his facial structure, the dark blue-purple juxtaposing with his light blue eyes (that, if he’s being honest, are close to his best feature). 

Pair them with his cheekbones and add a little charm, and he’s got the people in his pocket. 

Shifting the car into gear, he creeps out from the alleyway, hand resting over his gun in a well-practiced manner, eyes darting across the street in front of him, and when it is empty to his satisfaction, he relaxes, leaning back against the leather of his seat with another sigh. 

He drives for a moment longer before he hears the unmistakable crack of a bullet leaving the chamber, and his eyes fly to the rooftops above him. He curses loudly as the window next to him explodes into shards of glass, and he feels the sharp sting on his face as he veers the car quickly down a side road. He groans loudly as another back window bursts, and he pushes the pedal harder to the floor as he dodges sidecarts and other cars, their drivers yelling angrily at him. 

Louis grips the steering wheel tightly, anger boiling in his chest as he inwardly curses the Shelby’s (as he’s prone to do). He’s never actually been formally introduced to Tommy Shelby and his crew, but from what he’s heard, they’re almost as scary and tightly run as Simon’s. 

Almost. 

He stays on edge for the rest of his drive, making a few extra unnecessary turns and parking every so often, just in case they sent someone on his tail, before he pulls in front of a flat building, several stories high. 

Louis looks at himself in the mirror once again, and scowls as he sees the scratches in his cheek, one dangerously close to his eye. Taking out his handkerchief, he gingerly wipes at the blood slowly streaming down his face, carefully removing any glass he finds before opening his door, watching as his lapfull of glass falls to the street below. 

He makes his way through the iron gate, pushing it open with a quick wave to the children playing in the front garden. 

“Louis! Did you bring me back a present from the seaside like you promised?” a child’s voice calls from across the way, and Louis mentally scolds himself as he smiles down at the little girl running up to him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. 

“I’m sorry pet, I ran into some trouble today and it completely slipped my mind. Next time I’m there, I’ll bring you double the things, how does that sound?” He leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head, and the little girl’s pout switches to a bright smile as she nods, and he watches her scamper away to join her friends again. 

He pushes on, entering the flat building, and takes the stairs two at a time, hauling himself up by the railing until he reaches the third floor. Adjusting his pants and coat with a rough hand, Louis makes his way down the hallway until he stops at a door labelled “3C”, and he knocks, a quick staccato rhythm. 

As the door opens, he removes his hat and smiles sheepishly at the man standing in front of him. 

“Jesus Christ, Louis, you were supposed to be here an hour ago, what happened to you?” Niall stands in front of him, shaking his head as he pulls Louis in by the coat sleeve, and Louis rolls his eyes. “Is this any way to treat a guest? A simple hello would have sufficed.” Louis shrugs off his coat, and Niall laughs loudly, his Cheshire Cat grin taking over his face as he grabs the coat from Louis, ignoring the remaining glass that falls to the floor. 

“Is that Louis? Ask him if he brought the spices I ordered, he should have had plenty of time to grab them.” a woman’s voice comes from the kitchen, and Louis reaches into the pocket of his trousers, feeling the small paper sachet with relief. 

“Got them right here, ma’am.” Louis calls, and Niall smirks as a brunette woman appears in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron as she looks at Louis with a scowl.

“Louis Tomlinson, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me ma’am? My mother is a ma’am, besides, it makes me feel old.” the woman stops in front of him, and her eyes widen as she sees Louis’ face.

“What in hell happened to you? Why is it every time you come into this house one of you is bleeding?” she takes Louis’ face in her hands, examining his cuts with a gentle hand, and Louis awkwardly shuffles his feet under her scrutiny, Niall grinning in his peripheral. 

“Alright, Amelia, don’t act like you’re not used to this. You knew what you were getting into.” Niall’s Irish drawl warms his words as he wraps his arms around her middle, pressing a loud kiss to her cheek, and she swats at him, giggling. 

“Doesn’t make it easier, seeing two of my favourite boys coming into my home looking like this.” Amelia says matter-of-factly, and Louis looks at his feet, a small smile on his face as Niall and Amelia bicker softly, heading back into the kitchen. 

He loves coming to Niall and Amelia’s flat, much more than he likes going to his own empty one.

Niall and Amelia have been married for a little over a year, after Niall pursued her for even longer. When they enlisted, Niall had promised that the minute they returned, he was going to marry her. So he did. 

Amelia was a soft spoken Englishwoman with a fiery wit and kind eyes, and who was the perfect match for Niall, a loud, boisterous Irishman with a penchant for getting himself into trouble in the most untimely ways. 

Together, they create an environment that Louis feels at home and loved in, and he’s grateful to them. 

“Louis! Get in here, and let me clean your face up. You’re not sitting at my table and getting blood on my napkins.” Amelia’s voice comes from the kitchen, and Louis shakes his head, smiling to himself as he follows the smell of a roast dinner and the sound of quiet music playing from a radio. 

_“D’you ever think about running away?”_

_Louis blinks at Niall in surprise, sitting up to look at his friend, who is staring out at the sea, an absent expression resting in his face._

_“Running away? Why would you want to run away?” Louis asks, perplexed, and Niall shrugs, pulling at the grass under his palm._

_“I don’t know. To avoid growing up, maybe. Or to just go off and make a new life and never have to worry about disappointing anyone.” Niall’s voice is quiet, quieter than Louis is used to, and Louis shoots closer to his friend._

_“We don’t have anyone to disappoint, Ni. It’s just us._

_It’s always been just us.”_

Louis groans, wincing as Amelia pats his cheek with an alcohol-soaked rag, and she clicks her tongue, shaking her head as she carefully applies a bandage to his cheek. “Now will you please sit still? At this rate you’ll be stuck with a gash in your cheek forever. You’ll already have a scar from this.” She shakes her head again, and Niall chuckles from where he’s sitting in an armchair, flipping a knife in his hands. 

“What even happened, Lou? Cats finally catch you?” Niall smirks, and Louis gives him a silent bird, keeping his face still to avoid Amelia’s wrath. 

“In a way. Finished the job and was on my way out, and they got a few of my windows. Must have caught on when their car didn’t come back.” Louis remembers his busted windows with annoyance. He’d just replaced the back windshield less than three months ago after it met an untimely demise thanks to a bricklayer’s fury, and this was an expense he wasn’t keen on having. 

Amelia sighs as she finishes her task, and leans away from Louis, frowning at the two of them. **“** I hate when you two talk about work.” She gathers up the dirty bandages from the table next to her, and Louis smiles up at her, his cheek still slightly burning. 

“Sorry, Mim. We won’t talk about it.” Louis promises, and she rolls her eyes, a fond smile on her face. “You still can’t lie to save your own life, Lou.” her words follow her as she makes her way back to the kitchen, and Niall sighs dreamily, watching her go with a dopey smile. 

“You guys are sweet. It makes me sick.” Louis grumbles, tucking the blanket that Amelia had placed on his lap tighter around him, and Niall laughs, the sound seeming to echo around the small room. “You just need to find a person of your own, Lou. Gotta get yourself out there.” 

Like Louis doesn’t know that. Like Louis hasn’t tried. 

The thing with that is, most people don’t look very kindly on ex soldiers caught up in a gang racket. Amelia is a rare exception, choosing to mostly ignore Niall’s ‘job’, save for when she has to stitch up a wound or cover for friends. 

Speaking of the job, Niall is animatedly telling Louis about what he and a few others had taken care of today, gesturing with his hands and eyes wide, a shiteating grin on his face. Louis has learned to selectively listen to Niall, and right now is one of those times. 

Throwing in a nod here and a hum there is enough to appease Niall, so Louis closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the couch cushion. He hasn’t properly slept in almost a week, and it’s starting to catch up with him. The drone of Niall’s voice mixing with the staticky music from the kitchen and Louis’ full belly is enough to lull him to sleep, his head growing heavier as the sounds slowly fade away. 

_I don’t know what to do._

_I feel lost, and alone._

_Like I don’t belong._

_I know I don’t belong._

_Everything is changing so quickly._

_I don’t know who I am anymore._

_Did I ever know?_

Louis awakens with a jolt as a loud knock comes from the front door, his hand flying to where his gun rests in his breast pocket, and he blinks as his eyes adjust to the dark room, the blanket still wrapped around him. 

Shoving the blanket away, he rests his hand delicately on the handle of his gun, eyes following Niall as he walks to the door, his own gun readied at his waist. They meet each other’s eyes, and Louis nods, preparing himself. Niall unlatches the door as another knock sounds, and he rolls his eyes. “Alright, give me a minute, bloody hell.” he mumbles as he pulls the door open a crack, just the length of the chain lock. 

“Jesus, Horan, no need to be on the defensive, it’s just me.” A familiar voice laughs from behind the door, and Niall groans, a grin replacing the serious expression that has stiffened his face previously. 

“Ed, you bastard, why didn’t you just say so?” Niall loosens the chain from the doorframe and swings the door open, the light from the hallway illuminating more of the dimly lit room. 

Louis lets his hand fall from his chest, shaking his head in irritation. Of course it would be one of their own at this hour of night. 

“Oh, hey, Tommo. Someone was just sent round to yours to fetch you, but looks like I’m bringing in the bag today.” Ed steps in the doorway, and Niall shuts the door behind him as Louis steps forward, nodding at Ed in greeting. 

“What’s the occasion, then? Last time we got a visitor in the night my husband didn’t come home for a week.” The three men turn to see Amelia standing behind them, arms crossed over her chest with a set of her jaw, levelling a stare directly at Ed. 

Louis hates being on the receiving end of that stare. 

Ed removes his lid cap quickly, nodding respectfully in her direction. “Sorry, missus, didn’t mean to bother. Just came to fetch the lads for a quick meeting.” 

Louis and Niall glance at each other in confusion, then back at Ed. 

“A quick meeting at midnight? Louis hasn’t slept a full night in Lord knows how long, could it not have waited til the morning?” Amelia speaks softly but sternly, her irritation with the situation more than obvious. Ed shakes his head, his bright red hair flopping. “Sorry again, missus, but the boss said it needed to happen tonight. If you’ll come with me, lads?” Ed gestures to the doorway, and Louis steps up to Amelia, wrapping an arm around her quickly. “Don’t worry, Mim. I’ll keep an eye on him.” he presses a quick kiss to her cheek, and she pats his chest with a soft sigh. “I know you will. Keep yourself out of trouble.” she orders gently, and Louis nods, smiling down at her. 

Niall grabs their coats from the hooks by the door, tossing Louis’ in his direction as he walks past him to his wife, where he places a long kiss to her frowning lips. 

“I’ll be home before sundown tomorrow. I want a plate full of piping hot sausage butties the minute I walk in that door.” Niall squeezes his wife with a wink, and Amelia scoffs, a smile tugging at her lips. “Alright, you. Get on with it. I’m going back to bed.” Amelia gives one last kiss to Niall’s cheek before flashing a quick smile to Louis, and left the room after a lightly scathing glance at Ed. 

Louis tugs his coat over his shoulders, and pulls his lid cap out of the pocket. “What’s this meeting about, Ed? Liam’s hardly competent or respected enough to be able to call a full member meeting in the middle of the night.” Niall asks Ed, and Louis chuckles under his breath. 

“Payne didn’t call it. Simon did.” Ed’s response elicits raised eyebrows from Louis and a surprised hum from Niall. “He’s back early, then? What brought him back?” Louis adjusts his hat on his head, the tightness comforting as he follows the two men out of the flat and into the hallway. 

Ed glances between the two of them, and then at their surroundings. The hallway is empty, lit only by the streetlights outside and various hanging wall fixtures, the light sending funny shadows across their faces as they walk. 

“He’s called a meeting with the Twists.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**H**

_If you were there, beware the serpent soul pinchers_

_Three-hundred and fifty "No, thank you"s and nobody flinches_

_Go on, girl, go on, give us something gruesome_

_We require your grief, the thugs help the thieves_

_As they're trying to rob the words from her gob and_

_Take the source of the innocence_

_If You Were There, Beware - Arctic Monkeys_

Harry’s boots squeak against the pristine tile flooring as he walks the length of a long, silent hallway, flanked by two silent men. He doesn’t know their names, nor does he really care all that much. He tugs at his cufflinks, the rings on his fingers clicking (gaudily, as his father would say). 

He only wears his rings when he isn’t working a job. They’re too noticeable otherwise.

The rest of Harry’s suit is pristine black, not a wrinkle or speck of dust in sight. He refuses to cut his hair into the close shaven style that most of the rest of his father’s company keeps, instead leaving it slightly long and shaggy, just enough to toss about. 

He smiles as he sees a dark haired figure leaning against a wall in front of him, fiddling idly with his cap as he stares down the opposite end of the hallway. 

“Would you look at what the cat dragged in? Where have you been, mate, it’s been weeks.” Harry’s sudden words startle the person in front of him and the men next to him, one of them moving to grab a hold of his gun, and Harry snorts. “Calm down there, bod. I’m just greeting an old friend.” Harry shakes his head as he strides away from them to approach the man who is now standing straight, hat back on his head as he smirks at Harry.

“You’ve got bodyguards today, H. What have you been up to?” The man asks, extending his hand towards Harry, who takes it with a roll of his eyes. “Glorified babysitters. They’re one practical joke away from having to watch me shit.” Harry scoffs, and the man chuckles as Harry continues. 

“And technically, I haven’t done anything yet. They’re trying to keep tabs on me for when I have to. Can’t be missing when I’m needed most, or some stupid shit like that.” Harry shrugs as they continue walking down the hallway, the two men behind them hanging back. 

“So, where have you been, Malik? Did Wes put you back in Edin?” Harry directs his question at the man walking next to him, while keeping his eyes trained in front of him. The man nods before responding. “Was supposed to be there through the end of the week, but they pulled me last night. You?” 

“London.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. Things are getting tense up there. It’s probably why I was pulled, they’ve got to be planning something. Otherwise Wes wouldn’t bother with it.” 

The man stays silent, and their footsteps echo along as they walk.

“Hey, Zayn?” 

“Yeah, mate.”

“Have you seen Auggie lately?” 

Zayn looks at Harry for the first time with a sly smirk on his face, and Harry frowns. “What? Honest question.” 

“Why do you want to know?” Zayn hums in response, and Harry scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. Can I not inquire as to the wellbeing of an old friend?” he argues, and Zayn rolls his eyes. “An old friend that you fucked. Sure, H. He’s fine. Shacked up with a missus in Birmingham. You happy?” Zayn glances at Harry to gauge his reaction, but Harry keeps his face casual, nodding to himself. “Good to know. Glad he’s figured his shit out.”

Zayn rolls his eyes again with a soft groan. “You just can’t bring yourself to admit that yet another one of your conquests went cock-up. Why can’t you just settle yourself down, man?” 

Harry raises his eyebrows, and laughs mockingly. “Settle down like who, my father? I don’t exactly come from a long line of marrying types, Zayn.” 

They come to a pause as they reach a large, ornate wooden door, and Harry feels a strange knot build in his stomach as he stares at it.

“Besides. Even if I was, you and I both know it would never happen anyway.”

_“Harry, mummy needs to go away for a while. I’ll be back so very soon, I promise.”_

_“Where are you going? Why can’t I come, mum, I want to come.”_

_“You can’t come with me, darling. I’m going away so I can get better, and when I come back, we shall go to the sea and you can eat all the sweets you’d like.”_

_“But mummy, I want to go with you. I can help you get better!”_

_“No, Harry, you need to stay here and help your father take care of your sister. Can you help take care of Gemma for me, darling?”_

_“Yes, mummy. Will you be back soon?”_

_“I’ll be back before you even know it._

_I promise.”_

Harry stares at his father incredulously, his jaw all but dropped in shock. “You cannot be serious. They’ve been at our throats for _years_ , and you want to actually give them the time of day? Why?”

Wes Twist sighs deeply, dragging his fingers across an embossed letter resting in front of him on the dark wooden desk.

“For the greater good, Harry. If we can work together to calm the quell of what’s happening in London, we will have no further need to quarrel, which, if you remember, is what we have been trying to accomplish for years. Simon and his men have been a strong power in these parts for a long time, and since the war ended they’ve only gotten stronger. We could afford to have them in our corner.”

Harry shakes his head with a soft huff. “There is no ‘having Simon in our corner’. You’ve said it before, he’s a bloodhound who takes whatever chance he has to hunt, and I’ll be damned if I let that happen to my boys.” Harry’s voice is steadily growing louder, and Wes watches him with a calculated eye. Harry stares right back, his hands slowly balling into fists next to him. 

“I respect your words and actions as my second in command, Harry. And I appreciate your input, but the decision has already been made. We’re meeting the Cowells tonight at the Voight.”

Harry’s brow furrows, and he laughs darkly. “Of course, meet with Simon Cowell and his jackals in their own lair. This will go wonderfully for you, father.” Harry scoffs, and Wes slams his knuckles into the desk, startling Harry with a quick jump.

“Don’t get fresh with me, boy,” Wes points at Harry, rising from his chair. “I wouldn’t forget about the kindnesses I’ve done you over the years. Now, this discussion is over. I suggest you prepare yourself for civil conversation. Someone will be by to get you at nightfall. Do not be late.” Wes leans over his desk, all but snarling the words, and Harry stiffens his shoulders as he tips his chin down, jaw clenched. “Yes, sir.” Harry mutters, spinning on his heel as Wes nods dismissively, sitting back down in his chair.

Harry strides down the hallway, an angry fire bubbling in his chest as he ignores Zayn calling his name from behind him. He only stops when he reaches a window near the end of the hall, stopping to stare outside.

“What the fuck?” he blurts, effectively cutting off Zayn’s words (that he wasn’t listening to to begin with), and Zayn looks at him, irked. “What?” he asks, leaning around Harry to look out the window, and Harry gestures to the front drive outside, where no less than eight sleek, black cars are parked in front of the building, practically a militia. Harry can see figures sitting in the front seat, along with a few more littered around the area.

He looks back at Zayn as he chuckles, and Harry’s forehead furrows at Zayn’s smug expression. “What do you know?” Harry asks suspiciously, and Zayn crosses his arms in front of him, shaking his head in exasperation. “You’re bloody unbelievable, H. Were you not listening to a thing I’ve just said?”

Harry shrugs, and Zayn clicks his tongue.

“I was trying to tell you. Wes isn’t going in blind. We’re going to have men on every street corner for three blocks in all directions, and surrounding the hotel. The second they try something dodgy, we’re on ‘em.” 

Harry feels a smile tug on his lips, and Zayn chuckles, nudging him. “Why do you think I’m here, you git?” 

Harry laughs out loud then, and wraps an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, leading them away from the window and out the front door. “Zayn, my friend, you may be the most level headed out of all of us.” 

He pulls the heavy door open, and nods at the men standing around, their attention drawn to the two of them. “As you were, lads.” He motions for them to carry on with their business, and they continue down the stairs. 

The lawn around them is impeccably cared for, lush bushes planted along the circular driveway, a fountain centered in the middle of the circle, surrounded by green grass. Their boots crunch on the stone gravel as they walk past the cars, nodding to the men inside without saying a word to them.

“Care for a ride back into town? You know these roads get bad at night.” Zayn cocks his head towards a car parked near the gate, but Harry waves him off as the clopper of horse hooves sound on the brickstones of the road outside. “Thanks, mate, but I’ve got it sorted.” Harry smiles as a stablehand brings a tall, dark horse around the corner, and Zayn laughs, clapping a hand to Harry’s shoulder as Harry and the stablehand trade the reins.

“You may hate to hear it, but you really are Wes’ son.” Zayn smirks, his dark eyebrows quirking, and Harry scowls, tugging at the saddle. “Fuck off.” Harry mutters, slipping his boot through the stirrup and hoisting himself up with ease, and Zayn laughs again, this time stepping forward to rub a hand against the horse’s flank. “Alright, Jack the lad. You go off and believe whatever you’d like, but you may as well be your father’s second head.” Zayn looks up at his friend, and Harry looks back at him, stoney faced as he leans down towards Zayn. 

“I may be a lot of things, but I am not my father.” Harry’s voice is dark and soft, and Zayn’s face loses its jokey smirk as it falls into a more serious, slightly chagrined expression, and Harry straightens, tugging on the reins as his horse whips his head, snorting loudly. 

“I’ll see you tonight, Malik. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Harry guides his horse out of the gate, digging his heels into the horse’s side, and ignores the thunder rumbling high in the quickly darkening sky. 

_I love rain._

_I love how the ocean greets the rain, swelling and ebbing._

_I love how the earth responds, growing instantly colder._

_I love the way the rain feels on my face._

_I love the way it seems to wash away the fire that is always, always burning inside._

_I wish it would always rain._

Harry sits on a plush armchair in front of an open fireplace, finger absently tracing the rim of his teacup as he watches the dancing flames. He feels the warmth beginning to bring a flush to his cheeks, but he doesn’t move.

He’s dressed much less formally than he was a few hours before, this time in dark grey trousers and a black wool coat, a cap resting in his lap, and fingers bare of rings, save for his gold signet ring on his left hand. He fiddles with it now, chewing on the inside of his lip (a nasty habit, he should quit), trying to run through how tonight is going to play out.

He’s trying to get every peg in its place, make sure nothing will go wrong, but his mind won’t focus. 

No matter how much he tries to deny it, he’s nervous.

Harry hears a knock at the door, but makes no move to answer it, instead taking a long sip from his now only lukewarm tea. He hears the door creak open behind him, and hears footsteps. “Master Styles? They’re here.” Harry glances over his shoulder at his father’s butler standing to his left, and he nods, giving the butler a dismissive smile. 

He finishes his tea in silence, the only sounds in the room the crackling and popping of the wood burning in the fireplace, and he places the teacup back to the plate with a soft clink. Standing up with a soft grunt, he tugs at his sleeves, and places his cap on his hat as he walks out of the room, tipping his head at the men standing outside. 

“Gents. Shall we?” he gestures to the front door, and one of the men smiles at him, pushing the door open. “After you, Master Styles.” his voice is teasing, and Harry smirks back, cocking an eyebrow. “One to talk, Master Nicholas.” Harry steps off of the front step into the rain, flipping his collar up as they walk, and Nicholas falls into step next to him. 

They had grown up together, Nicholas living in the manor down the road, and Harry was glad to be walking into whatever shitshow they were getting themselves into with someone he knew.

Would rather die saving someone you know than killing someone you don’t, he supposes.

“What do you think is gonna happen tonight? Rumour has it Wes already has his eye set on taking new ground in the south.” Nicholas lights up a cigarette as he speaks, and Harry shrugs, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “I know fuck all about this. Wes has probably told you lot more than I know.” Harry grumbles, and Nicholas looks at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Where’s he kept you all this time, Siberia? It’s all people have been talking about, especially with the-”

“The problems in London, I know. I was there.” Harry cuts him off, and Nicholas whistles. “Wes really must have a plan for you if he’s kept you out of the loop for so long, especially since you were right there.” Harry frowns as they reach a black car, still running, and Nicholas opens the door for him, gesturing for him to sit as he tosses his cigarette to the ground. Harry does, and Nicholas follows closely, shutting the door behind him. 

Harry takes his cap off, and runs a hand through his hair, shaking off the rain. “Whatever Wes is up to, it’s either going to go arse over tits or work just perfectly. ‘Tis the nature of things round here.” Harry exhales, and Nicholas hums in agreement. The man in the front seat chuckles deeply, and pulls the car down and out the drive. 

The rest of the drive occurs in silence. 

  
  
  
  
  
**_L_ **

_Go tell that long tongue liar_

_Go and tell that midnight rider_

_Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter_

_Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down_

_Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em dow_ _n._

_‘God’s Gonna Cut You Down’ - Johnny Cash_

Niall whistles as they walk through the plushly embellished halls of the Voight Hotel, hands hanging loosely from his pockets. Louis smirks. “You’re acting like you’ve never been here before, c’mon now, have a little class. We get to pretend that we’re not low bred scum for one night.” Louis winks, nudging Niall with his elbow, and Niall snorts. 

“I’ve barely seen the outside of this place. We’re not all as special as you, Lou.” 

Louis can’t deny that he’s been inside the Voight - a hotel mainly used for meetings between politicians and the gang lords - a few more times than he’d care to admit. Simon drags him here whenever he feels he needs an extra edge in the conversation, which Louis takes proudly, but the building reeks with elegance and richness, which Louis is the exact opposite of. 

“Gimme a number, how many men have you seen shot through the skull in here? I’m putting my money on twelve.” Niall ribs, wiggling his eyebrows at Louis, and Louis rolls his eyes with a bemused chuckle. 

The funny thing is, Niall aimed drastically low. 

They come to a stop alongside a few others that they recognise, and they tip their heads in greeting, receiving low murmurs and nods in return. Ed sidles up next to them, and shrugs his shoulders excitedly. “I heard that Wes has cars lined up and down the block. They’re just waiting for us to fuck up and make the first move, I can feel it.” Ed whispers, and Louis snorts, his hand moving subconsciously to grasp the handle of his pistol in his breast pocket. “Brilliant.” he mumbles, taking a few quick glances around him. 

Louis may not be much of a fighter, but he shoots straight and never misses. 

It’s probably one of the reasons Simon chooses to keep him so close. 

All of their eyes snap to a loud thud in front of them, and Louis sees a door open widely, Simon stepping out with Liam following close behind. Louis notices with interest the large bruise spread across Liam’s cheek and swelling his eye, and he shifts his weight on the balls of his feet as they come closer. 

“Lads. Thank you all for being so prompt.” Simon clasps his hands behind his back as he looks at each man individually, his eyes resting for a moment longer on Louis. He matches Simon’s gaze with a steady eye, and Simon gives him a curt nod before moving on. 

“I’m sure you know what we’re here for today. The Twist boys will be here to come to negotiations, and we will be joining in close forces with them to calm the situations occurring in London.” 

Simon pauses, scanning the reactions of the other men, and Louis can see a few of them glance between themselves. Simon clears his throat as he continues. 

“They’re preparing for things to go badly, so they’ve stationed cars around the hotel and up and down the road. I am telling you now, and this is of the utmost importance: do not engage with them. Do not acknowledge their existence, do not even look in their direction. I know a few of you have trouble keeping your mouths shut, but I am ordering you now to keep them tighter than a seaman’s chest. These negotiations are worth more than many of your lives. Am I making myself abundantly clear?” 

The temperature in the room feels like it’s dropped twenty degrees, and Louis murmurs out a ‘yes sir’ among the chorus of other voices. 

It’s moments like these where Louis is reminded of who he is. 

He is nothing more than a working dog, a trained hand used to keep the big man safe for a few pounds in his pocket, and the minor luxury of knowing where he’ll rest his head at night. 

No matter how many times Simon calls on him to do another one of his dirty jobs, his extra dangerous jobs, his ‘special case’ jobs, he is no different than the rest of the sad blokes in this room. 

At the end of the day, he’s still fighting and scraping along to survive.

“I’m going to want a few of you on the inside with me, the rest of you will follow the instructions given.” Simon is still speaking, and Louis feels a soft bump to his side. 

“Willing to place money you’re in there.” Niall whispers, and sure enough, Simon gestures to Louis and another man, a tall, buff chap who Louis thinks is named Jack. 

“The Twists should be here any minute. Head on out, and remember: if I hear one word about any of you that is anything but positive, you’ll not be pleased with the outcome.” Simon smiles, but the poison drips from his words. 

Louis feels slightly dwarfed by the person walking next to him as he pulls the heavy wooden door open, a long table surrounded by elegant chairs directly in front of him in the large, ornately decorated room. 

“I’ll take the left, you take the right?” Jack asks, his voice higher than Louis had expected to come out of such a big man, and Louis nods in affirmation. Jack seems like a good kid, young, with a scrappy personality and an easy smile. However, today he is solemn, carrying himself with his full height, and Louis can tell he’s nervous. 

“Hey.” Louis smiles at the kid, who looks at him, jaw set tightly. “Simon’s smart. This won’t turn sideways. Besides, the Twists should be grateful he’s even giving them the chance to be on our side.” Louis winks as he sees Jack’s shoulders loosen a little bit, and he leans against the wall, satisfied. 

No more than ten minutes go by before they hear voices outside, and Louis feels his stomach begin to tense up as he straightens, positioning his hand on his chest pocket. He meets eyes with Jack, and gives him a small nod, winking quickly before training his eyes on the door. 

They’re not alone for much longer when Simon opens the door, Liam close behind, carrying a small briefcase in his right hand. Simon nods to the two of them, and takes his place at the table, Liam to his right. Liam gives a small smile to Louis as he sits, scooting his chair close to the table with a soft scratch. 

“Hey, Louis. Y’alright, haven’t seen you around in a while?” Liam asks, leaning one arm on the table, and Louis bobs his head in greeting, giving him a tight lipped smile back. “Been just fine, thank you sir.” Louis keeps his voice mellow, and Liam’s brows furrow as he sighs. “C’mon mate, how many times do I have to ask you to just call me Liam?” Liam asks, and Louis can feel Simon’s eyes on him as he dips his head again. 

“Once again, as always, sir.” Louis directs his answer to Liam, but keeps his eyes turned to the door as he avoids looking back at the table. 

Liam doesn’t seem like an inherently bad guy, or a particularly unlikeable one. And that, Louis knows, is dangerous in their line of work. 

Other than his impressive resume and marksman skills, what Simon sees in him Louis will never understand. They’re complete and total opposites, Liam wanting to be everyone’s friend and always advocating for everyone’s voices to be heard, Simon always keeping a strong distance between himself and the men he employs, never letting them forget the line between himself and them, never crossing it, never blurring it. 

Simon and Liam talk softly between themselves, and Louis only hears a few words that are spoken before a loud knock echoes through the room. They all fall still, and turn to the sound as Ed pushes the door open, hand clasped tightly on his gun as he takes a half step into the room. 

“They’re here, sir.” 

Simon shifts in his seat, nodding, and Ed pushes the door open wider, and Louis can see a broad shouldered, salt and pepper haired man enter the room, dressed in a lavish, dark grey suit, a lid cap tucked under his arm. Simon stands with a chuckle and a wry smile on his lips, extending his hand to the man as he walks directly up to the table. 

“Wesley Twist, is it a funny thing to see you on this side of the Seine.” Simon’s voice takes on a deep timbre as he grasps the other man’s hand, and Wes laughs, shaking his head. 

Louis’ attention is taken from the scene playing out in front of him as three more men file in behind Wes, each one with a cap on their heads and long coats draped around them. One of them stands with a different air, though, and strides forward confidently to stand next to Wes. 

Louis blinks as the man takes his cap off, and a floppy mess of dark curls tumble from their confines. This man is tall, his shoulders squared as he has his hands deep in his pockets, and Louis can see his strong jawline that bears close resemblance to the man he stands next to. 

This man is also staring daggers at Simon, and Louis can see his hand wrapped around the handle of a gun that is barely peeking out of his coat pocket. 

“Simon, may I introduce you to my second in command.” Wes gives a pointed look in the other man’s direction, and the curly haired man withdraws his hand from his pocket and takes Simon’s, shaking it curtly. “Harry Styles, sir. An honour.” 

The man, whose name is now Harry Styles, has a voice that is deep and syrupy like honey, but has a sharp edge that does not go unnoticed. Simon levels a gaze at Harry, holding onto his hand a moment longer than usual, and Harry meets his eyes, not backing down until Simon releases his hand. 

“Your son’s got a fire, Wes. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree with this one, now did it?” Simon chuckles, and Wes laughs along with him. 

Well, that’s a turn Louis didn’t see coming. His second is his _son_. 

Wesley Twist either loves his son, or hates him with a passion.

“Should we get down to business? We’ve got a bit of ground to cover here.” Liam clears his throat from where he’s stood. next to Simon, and the other men murmur in agreement. 

Louis keeps his position on the side of the room, his eyes flickering between the two other men standing near the door, and Harry Styles, who is sitting (more like lounging, Louis thinks with a hint of disdain) in the chair next to his father, fingers drumming quietly on the wood table as he listens closely to the conversation being had. 

Louis doesn’t like him or trust him, no matter how polished he may be. 

The four men begin to run through negotiations, and Louis tries to make sense of everything they’re saying. They’re discussing percentages, and distances, and ground coverage, and Louis can sense a resolution coming, but the tension continues to build in Harry’s shoulders. 

“So it’s decided, then. We send some of our own into London to get some control of the situation, and then move on from there.” Liam shuffles some papers on the desk, and Simon lights a large cigar with a small smirk. 

Wes hums in agreement, and Harry stiffens slightly. “Wait a minute. Who decides who goes where?” His tone is vaguely demanding, and as he leans forward, Louis notices his taut muscles that are betraying his nerves. 

Simon and Wes exchange a glance, and Liam shrugs as he responds, ever the peacemaker. “Mr Cowell would choose one of his men, as would Mr. Twist.” 

Louis sighs inwardly, knowing who Simon will be choosing. He readies himself to be ordered to pack up his life and head to London with some random lunkhead member of Twist’s little gang, and have to always sleep with one eye open, and- 

“Harry, you’ll be going to London, since you’ve already got the lay of things there. He’s got a knack for getting himself into places he shouldn’t belong.” Wes chuckles, lighting his own cigar, and Louis feels his jaw slacken. 

Not in a million years is he going anywhere with this snarky, boyish, triggerhappy son of a bitch. Literally. 

He’d rather take the random lunkhead, and he’s about to say just that when Simon speaks up. 

“I’m sure Louis would fit right in with him, then. Louis, come and meet your new partner.” Simon smiles at Louis, but the smile feels anything but friendly. Simon knows Louis’ affinity for working alone, and what tends to happen when he works with others, but the look Simon is sending into Louis’ soul tells him to just shut up. 

Louis takes a step forward, and Harry turns, finally facing Louis fully for the first time, and...

Holy God. 

_“What do you think happens when we die?”_

_Louis laughs in surprise, and shakes his head in the dark. “You do say the damndest shit when we’re about to face death. Why are you suddenly so worried?” Louis asks, taking off his heavy helmet and wiping the sweat off of his forehead._

_“I don’t know. I just.. don’t want to die not knowing, you know? Like, why would God put us here just to die?”_

_Louis blinks, staring up at the pitch black night sky._

_He reaches out until he finds fingers, and he tangles his own in them._

_“Cause God’s a sick bastard.”_

  
  
  
  
  


**H**

_If you are the dealer, I'm out of the game_

_If you are the healer, it means I'm broken and lame_

_If thine is the glory then mine must be the shame_

_You want it darker_

_We kill the flame._

_‘You Want It Darker’ - Leonard Cohen_

‘Absolutely fucking not’ are the first words that pop into Harry’s mind as Liam Payne, Cowell’s snooty, too friendly second in command, suggests sending members from each gang into London. Do they have any idea the sort of chaos that will bring?

(The short answer: No, because they’ve not got any idea as to what they’re talking about or getting into.) 

Harry is about to slam his fist on the table, or stand up dramatically, or do something to assert dominance in this obviously dog-eat-dog scenario when his father is speaking, and making yet another decision for him. ‘He’s got a knack for getting himself into places he shouldn’t belong’, Wes says, and Harry bites his tongue.

Last time he was in London, he managed to get an inside seat with a legendary poker club, one that has housed many a territory negotiation, but almost had a bullet put through his head when he was caught with the club owner.

However, that is extremely unimportant.

Harry ducks his head as he acknowledges his father, and when Simon calls over ‘his new partner’ (the sneer on Simon’s face sending a dull, uncomfortable shiver down Harry’s spine), he turns to face him with what he hopes is a neutral face. 

What he expects to see is an older man, maybe a little broad around the shoulders or chest, with a sour expression and a rifle slung around his shoulders, just like the rest of Simon’s team of gorillas that he has hanging around. 

What he _doesn’t_ expect to see is the man standing by the wall to his right, eyes steely blue and sharp, impeccable jawline set tightly as he looks down at Harry. This man is more slender in frame, and looks to be a few solid inches shorter than Harry, but Harry can see the strong muscle definition underneath his waistcoat and jacket. He has a bandage plastered to the side of his face, curving over his sharp cheekbones and light stubble.

His hair is cut in the familiar hairstyle that Harry has likened to their type of men, but his hair is beginning to fall in front of his eyes, and Harry feels the corner of his lip quirk up as the man named Louis comes to a stop in front of him. 

“Louis Tomlinson. A pleasure.” Louis’ voice makes it seem like it was anything _but_ a pleasure as he holds his hand out for Harry, and Harry stands, taking Louis’ offered hand as he moves. Louis takes a small, barely noticeable step backwards, momentarily startled by the movement, and Harry smirks as Louis looks at him, an unimpressed expression taking over his face as he looks Harry up and down. 

He’s going to need to win this one over.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Harry turns the tap on for charm, deciding to risk giving Louis an almost imperceptible wink, but Louis almost instantly reacts, his face darkening as he quickly removes his hand from Harry’s. Shoving it back into his pocket as he steps away, Louis effectively puts a good metre of distance between them as he focuses back in on the other men at the table. 

Well. Winning him over may be harder than Harry had anticipated, Harry thinks to himself as his smile falls, and he feels his eyebrows furrow as the familiar angry anxiety begins to build in his chest again. 

He doesn’t like Louis Tomlinson. 

More importantly, he doesn’t trust him. 

Not yet. 

  
  
  
  


**L**

_I'm outta control, living a fictional prose_

_I took an oath, it's killing me though_

_'Cause I don't believe in the things that I do_

_And now my favorite color is blue._

_‘Favorite Color Is Blue’ - Robert DeLong, K.Flay_

Harry Styles is the most beautiful human that Louis has ever laid eyes on. 

If he thought he was even remotely attractive from the side or from the back, Louis wasn’t prepared for the way Harry looks standing in front of him. 

Louis wasn’t prepared for Harry’s eyes that are evergreen like the forest, or the way Harry’s dark hair falls over his forehead, or the pure _height_ of this kid. Harry Styles is all legs and muscle, with a toothy, cocky smile and a firm grip. 

Louis already fucking hates him. 

Louis knows Harry’s type of people. And he hates them. 

The way Harry says that the pleasure is ‘all his’ makes Louis’ lip turn up, and when Harry winks? Louis would rather send knives into his own eyes. 

He quickly removes his hand from Harry’s, and turns his attention back to Simon, intent on knowing full details on what exactly they’d be up to, but he can feel Harry’s eyes on him, even as he tries to ignore them. 

“That settles it. We’ll be in contact to discuss where you two will be staying when in London.” Liam clicks the briefcase closed, and Harry clears his throat. Louis forces his eyes to stay level and not roll entirely into the back of his head as Harry speaks. 

“I have a flat in London from when I was staying there previously. It’s paid through the end of the year. I doubt we’d need that long, but the flat is still available.” Harry’s voice is less syrupy charm, and more serious now, and Liam nods, giving Harry a natural smile. “Perfect. You lads can figure out all you need to from there, then.” Liam stands, and nods to the other men in the room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting across town. A pleasure to make your acquaintances, Mr Twist, Harry.” Liam steps around the table and quickly exits the room, and Louis sighs under his breath. 

_What the fuck does Liam even do_ , Louis thinks. 

The four men stand and sit in silence for a few more moments, and Louis feels the hair on the back of his neck rise as Simon and Wes regard each other, both smoking on their respective cigars with slight smiles on their faces. 

“After twenty years, we’re finally on the same side. Only if dear old Headmaster could see us now.” Wes chuckles as he exhales a cloud of sweet cigar smoke, and Simon breaks into uncharacteristically loud laughter. 

Ten more minutes of awkward chitchat later, Louis is walking quickly down the hallway, hands balled into fists as his heavy footsteps thud beneath him. He can see Niall, seated on a plush settee, legs crossed in front of him as his shotgun lies on his chest. He can hear Niall humming, and Louis rolls his eyes, stomping a little extra loudly as he approaches. Niall sits up with a grin, stowing the gun to his side as he faces Louis, but the grin quickly falls as he sees the look on Louis’ face. 

“What happened?” Niall asks, his Irish drawl more somber than usual, and Louis scoffs, kicking the foot of the settee as he runs a hand through his hair. “Simon’s sending me to fucking London.” Louis plops down on the settee next to Niall, and shakes his head. “He’s sending me to London with Wesley Twist’s right hand man, who just so happens to be his own damn son.” Louis hisses, and Niall whistles lowly, leaning back on the settee. “Shit. Must not be a great relationship with those two, then.”

Louis huffs, shrugging his shoulders. “I couldn’t give a damn about their relationship. I’m packing off to London with this tall, pretty boy dickhead for god knows how long, and if I don’t end up dead it’ll be a fuckin’ miracle.”

Niall chuckles, patting Louis’ shoulder. “Don’t worry, Lou. If you made it through a war, you can make it through a few weeks in London.” 

Louis shakes his head slowly, closing his eyes as he sinks deeper into the soft upholstery. 

“Hey, Lou?” Niall nudges him gently, and Louis hums in answer, keeping his eyes shut. “What’s he like? Wes’ kid? I heard he was a real-“

“A real piece of work, Niall. I’ve got no time for his type of person, and I’m not planning on making any.” Louis can practically taste the disdain on his tongue, and Niall chuckles. “Aw, c’mon Lou, you can make friends with anyone.” he can feel Niall settle next to him, their arms touching as they sit, slumped against the backrest of the settee. 

Louis thinks about that. 

When he was younger, he used to be the one people came to for a joke, or to fight off a bully, but now? 

Now he’s just… Louis. 

Louis, the short bloke with a gun. 

_“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” Louis grins as he reloads his gun._

_“On my grandfather’s farm. He lived up in the country, and there wasn’t much else to do up there besides shoot. You?”_

_Louis aims at the target, squinting an eye before pulling the trigger, sending the clay pigeon into shatters._

_“School.”_

Louis and Niall are walking together down the gravelly road when they hear the swift clopper of horse hooves from behind them, and when they turn, Louis groans inwardly as he sees Harry riding up to them, a nasty smile on his face as he approaches. 

“Tomlinson. You’d already fucked off before we could talk out a plan.” Harry sits back in the saddle as he looks down at them, and Louis lets his hand drift casually to the gun in his pocket. He can hear Niall let out a surprised chuff, and Harry turns his attention to Niall. 

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure. Harry Styles.” Harry reaches down a hand, and Niall claps at it, giving him a grin. “Niall Horan. Your reputation precedes you, sir.” 

Harry laughs, and Louis is momentarily taken aback by how loud (and genuine) it sounds. “All bad things, I assume.” Harry settles back into his seated position as he speaks, his eyes flickering between Louis and Niall, who shrugs, glancing at Louis. “I’d be a liar if I said you had a glowing write-up, mate.” Niall’s smirks are aimed at Louis, who avoids looking at either man, instead focussing his attention on the horse shuffling its hooves in front of him. 

“Beautiful horse.” Louis murmurs, extending his hand to let the horse sniff at it, and runs his fingers across its silky nose. Harry hums. “She’s technically my father’s. She’s got a sister back at home, neither one gets ridden enough.” Harry’s voice verges on wistful, and Louis glances up at Harry. 

He’s watching Louis with an interested eye, and Louis looks away quickly, giving the horse another scratch on the jaw, which earns him a soft nicker and a wet-nosed nudge. 

“I didn’t take you for a horse man, Tomlinson.” Harry’s voice seems softer now, and Louis keeps his eyes trained on the horse when he responds. “I don’t think you know me well enough to take me for anything, thanks.” 

Harry laughs again, but this time it’s back to its usual timbre, standoffish and low. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other better in London, I suppose. I’ll see you around, lads.” Harry gives a quick tug to the horse’s reins, Louis stepping away as her head jerks back, and they watch as she gallops away, taking Harry and his pompous, blowhard self with her. 

  
  


**N**

“I can’t fucking believe the nerve he has. Who in the hell does he think he is, telling _me_ who _he_ thinks I am?” Louis kicks at the gravel as they walk, his hands gesticulating wildly as his voice raises in pitch, and Niall shakes his head, grinning up at the sky. 

Louis doesn’t often raise his voice in anger, but when he does, God help the poor soul who’s the reason for it. 

Niall is used to Louis’ moods by now, after almost twenty years of friendship. They’ve gotten a little better since the war, but Louis still has his moments. 

Now would be one of those moments, it would seem. 

“Calm down, Tommo, it’s not like he insulted your honour. He just said he didn’t take you for a horse person, that’s all.” Niall says, and he picks up his pace to match Louis’, who is stomping a little further ahead. Louis stops abruptly, his blue eyes clouded as he scowls, and he huffs while he waits for Niall to catch up. 

“It’s the goddamn principle of the thing, Ni. He looks at me like I’m some sort of idiot, or that he has to conquer me or some shit. I’ve fought in a fucking war, I can handle my own self.” Louis sputters, and Niall sighs. 

“I really don’t think that’s what he thinks.” Niall mumbles as he continues on, but Louis stays behind a moment. Niall glances over his shoulder, and Louis is still scowling, staring at the ground. “What do you mean you don’t think that’s what he thinks? He’s made it abundantly clear that he thinks I’m some inferior, low class, ignorant hired hand.” Louis’ voice is slightly calmer now, and Niall turns around, stopping with another sigh. 

“And you got all that because he said he didn’t take you for a horse person? Louis, you need to get your head out of your own backside for five minutes and see that maybe he just wants a friend. I doubt he has many.” Niall crosses his arms in front of his chest (a gesture that is so like his wife he begins to worry they’re spending too much time together), and Louis’ eyes whip up to him. 

“A friend? Someone who acts like _that_ ,” Louis points in the direction of the Voight, “isn’t someone I want to be friends with. This London trip is going to be strictly work, no friends, and thank fuck I’ll never have to see him again after it’s all over.” Louis begins stomping again, brushing past Niall as he goes, and Niall laughs, following behind. 

“The way you’re going on about him you’d think there’s a little something more than hatred underneath the surface.” Niall teases, and Louis scoffs. “Yeah, mate. Pity.” 

It had been years since Louis had shown an interest in anyone, at least as far as Niall knows. Louis had dated a girl named Eleanor when they were in school, but they had come to a semi-amicable end. Since then, Louis had been a single fixture in Niall’s life, standing at his wedding, helping them move into their first apartment. 

Niall has never talked to Louis about his… ‘preferences’, but he knows enough to assume that they may not be exactly black and white. And Niall’s okay with that, he’d love Louis either way. But Louis isn’t one to open up, even to him. 

It’s not like Louis couldn’t pull someone if he tried. Louis is charming, funny, charismatic, and extremely handsome (Niall has eyes, Niall can admit it). Louis has a good head on his shoulders, and a big heart, even if Louis pretends he’s one of those stone cold soldier types. 

Even though Louis had come back from the war a little different than he had left for it, he was still the same boy Niall met at 6 years old at heart. 

“You coming for dinner tonight? I can almost guarantee that Amelia has a surprise roast in the oven, and it’s not even Sunday.” Niall nudges Louis’ arm, and Louis looks his way, a small smile finally breaking on his face. “You’re speaking my language now, Horan.” Louis swings an arm over Niall’s shoulder, and they walk the rest of the way home, singing tavern drinking songs and ignoring the clouds that are steadily building in the sky. 

  
  
  


**H**

_I was born and raised by the code that you don’t ever want to know_

_And if you know you don’t want to tell_

_You just live in a private hell._

_‘That Deadly Sound’ - Andrew Kirell_

Harry shoves a shirt into his cloth rucksack, and takes a quick glance around the room. The room he stays in at his father’s home is non-personal and boring, with rich colours making up the general composition. 

It’s all a mix of dark reds and blues, and Harry would hate it if he didn’t know it was his mother’s work. 

She had always wanted him to decorate on his own, but he had had no interest in making a room ‘his’, instead choosing to spend his time outside or at the homes of other people. 

He wishes he had spent more time home than he did. 

Harry turns to face the door as he hears a soft knock, and he smiles as a woman’s face appears in the doorway. “Hello, Dolly.” he steps forward to greet the short, stout, older woman who is holding a small stack of clothes in her hands. “Hello, darling. I do wish you weren’t heading back so soon.” His father’s housekeeper clucks her tongue as she reaches out to pat his chest, and Harry chuckles, taking the clothes from her. “It’s the business, you know.” Harry shrugs, and Dolly shakes her head, waving her hand as she tuts. “Now, I don’t want to hear a single thing about what you and your father do. I’m just fine being away from it all.” 

Harry grins, and sets the freshly folded clothes carefully in his pack. Dolly had been a member of his father’s home for years, and her old, quirky ways had seen their family through some of their hardest times. She was there when Harry was born, she was there when his mother died, and, as life seems to come full circle, she’ll probably be there when Harry dies.

Which, knowing his own track record, will most likely be sooner than later. 

“I’ve got some sandwiches for you to take with you to London. Does your friend like sandwiches? I packed a few extra for him.” Dolly is busying herself with tidying up the room (it barely needs it, Harry hasn’t exactly spent the most time in here), and Harry snorts, shaking his head. “I think he’d rather eat rat poison than something I brought him.” Harry grumbles, and he can hear Dolly laugh. “Well, don’t you fret about it. You can make friends with anyone, I’m sure he’ll come ‘round.” she gives him a quick look as she continues wiping at random spots of dust, and Harry chews on his lip, contemplative. 

‘Would Louis ever come around’, that's the question. This whole thing requires them to be at an understanding with each other, if not friends. 

Harry doubts they’ll ever be friends, thinking back to the glare Louis had levelled at him at least twice earlier that day. He frowns as he thinks about how he’s meant to handle a situation with a bloke who acts like he’d rather kill Harry than protect him, and he realises that he is thinking far too much about what Louis thinks. 

“You know what, Dolly? I don’t want to be his friend. I’m there to work, not make friends and play at being fun.” Harry straightens abruptly, hands clenching around the fabric of the clothing in his grip, and Dolly hums, her grey hair bobbing as she nods. 

“Just like your father. Ah, well. I’ll have those sandwiches packed for you when you leave, love.” Dolly winks as she exits the room, and Harry watches her go, tight lipped. He plops down on the bed, huffing as his back hits the soft blankets beneath him. 

He’s nothing like his father. 

  
  


_“Pick your feet up, boy! Do you think we’ve got all day?” Harry cringes as his father’s voice carries over the courtyard. “Coming!” he calls back, and turns back to the bush he’s crouching over. “I’ll be back to check on you before it gets dark, okay?”_

_He reaches out a finger, and gently strokes the chipmunk that is lying in a makeshift nest of leaves and fuzz. The chipmunk makes a quiet squeak, and Harry’s lips pout, looking at the deep gash on its leg. “I’ll get Robert to come get you later. I promise.” he whispers as a loud honk comes from the driveway, and Harry stands quickly, brushing off his trousers as he runs, hair flying in front of his face._

_“Sorry, father. I was-”_

_“You need a haircut. I’ll tell Dolly to get to it as soon as we’re home.”_

_Harry reaches a hand up to his curls, and bites his lip. “Yes, sir.”_

_“How many times have I told you to stop playing in those bushes? You don’t have time to be a bloody mess. I don’t want to see you there anymore, understood?”_

_Harry climbs into the car next to his father, and looks at the bushes as the car moves down the drive._

_“Yes, sir.”_

_The chipmunk is gone when Harry returns, and all signs of its nest._

  
  


A few hours later, Harry is drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, staring with a deeply set brow at the flat building he’s parked in front of. 

This was the address he was given for picking up his partner (who he can already assume is getting ready to murder him at first opportunity), and he isn’t sure what exactly to do. 

Rumour on the street has it that this flat building is entirely owned by Simon Cowell, and houses members of his gang in a tightly knit community. 

Not that Harry cares about ‘infiltrating enemy territory’, but here, he is gravely outnumbered should things go wrong. 

He can see children playing in the front garden in the quickly waning twilight, and he contemplates for a moment walking in and asking them about Louis. 

He rolls his eyes at himself then. _So desperate for information that you’d ask children_ , he chides himself, and pushes his door open with a soft grunt. He stuffs his hands deeply in his pockets, feeling the comforting bump of his pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers, and walks through the wrought iron gates and up the brick laid path.

Some of the children stop playing as he approaches, and a young girl of about nine or ten steps in front of him, a cross look on her face. 

“Sorry, but what’s your name? I don’t think we know you.” Her small voice carries a wary undertone, and Harry bites his lip against a smile. 

Children as bodyguards, he thinks. Simon, you motherfucker. 

“My name is Harry. I work with Louis, do you lot know of him?” He bends over slightly as he addresses her, and he feels a pang of relief as her face lights up. She nods, smiling widely as she pulls a necklace out of her coat. “He brought me back blue glass from the sea! My daddy put it on a necklace for me.” she says proudly, and Harry hums. 

Louis has a soft spot for children. Interesting. 

“I love your necklace. It suits your eyes.” He gives her a friendly wink and a small smile, and she giggles, slipping it back into her coat. “He got home a few hours ago. He should be upstairs.” The girl runs away as she speaks, chasing after a particularly loud boy, and Harry grins, straightening up. 

“Thank you,” he calls after her, and makes his way through the main doors. 

The address he was given is 3C, which means he has to make his way up to the third floor, which also means he needs to take the slightly unnerving stairs. “Fantastic,” he mumbles, and starts his journey up with a sigh. He doesn’t pass anyone on his way up, the only sounds being the creaking of the stairs and the soft whirring of electrical boxes. 

He pushes a hand through his hair as he reaches the third floor, and glances at the labels on the doors as he walks slowly down the hallway. He stops in front of the one labelled 3C, and he inhales deeply, steeling himself for Louis’ ice cold exterior as he knocks. 

He is unprepared for the pretty brunette woman who opens the door, face steeled as she raises an eyebrow. “Can I help you?” she asks, and Harry nods to her quickly, pasting a smile onto his face. 

_Well, shit. Of course he’s married._

“Yes’m. My name is Harry, I’m-” 

The woman’s face changes into one of soft acknowledgement, and she opens the door wider, smiling at him. “Of course, Louis’ new partner! My name is Amelia, it’s a pleasure. Come on in, please. They’ll be back shortly, but come, sit.” She gestures to the living room, and Harry nods again, still sort of at a loss for words. “Thank you very much.” He takes a seat in a chair that looks like it’s seen better days, but one that he practically sinks into, the cushions soft and incredibly comfortable, and she hums. “Can I offer you some tea? I’ve got a pot on, do you take cream?” Amelia is already pouring the cup as she speaks, and Harry’s smile widens as he responds. “Please.” 

The woman obliges, and she smiles down at him as she steps toward him. “I added a tiny bit of sugar, it’s good for the soul. Louis pretends he hates sugar, but I always catch him sneaking a spoonful.” She rolls her eyes fondly as she hands him the cup, and he takes it carefully. 

He’s going to hate killing Louis if it ever comes down to it. 

“I’ve got to check on the roast, but please, make yourself at home.” Amelia says over her shoulder as she bustles back into the kitchen, and Harry takes a sip of his tea, his eyes fluttering closed at the warm familiar taste. It’s a perfect cup, and he can’t help but wonder how many perfect cups it would have to take to get a person like Louis on his side.

What a stupid thought. 

Only a few more minutes pass until Harry can hear loud voices behind the front door, and he puts his cup down, straightening from his comfortable position. He can hear laughter as the door opens, and in walks Louis, followed closely by the other man Harry remembers as Niall, both of them carrying a cloth grocery sack in their arms. “Amelia, where do you want these bags, I’m about to-” Louis’ words stop mid sentence as his eyes fall onto Harry, and all signs of his previously cheery demeanour are gone, instead replaced by that scowl that Harry is already growing familiar with. 

Niall grins at Harry, grabbing for the other sack in Louis’ arms. “Oh, hey, Harry! Got here early to make a move on my wife, did ya?” Niall’s tone is teasing, but Louis has an obviously negative reaction as he jerks away from Niall, storming into the kitchen wordlessly. 

_Ah. So she’s Niall’s wife._

Also unexpected, but better for Harry in the inevitable long run. 

Niall rolls his eyes with a snicker, and motions for Harry to follow him as he walks into the kitchen. Harry awkwardly stands and makes his way to the doorway, where he can see Niall placing the grocery bag next to the one Louis has already deposited on the small wooden table. 

“I’ll pack up some of this for your dinner. You do have an icebox at that flat of yours, don’t you, Harry?” Amelia glances over her shoulder as she spoons steaming heaps of mashed potatoes into a decently sized crock. Harry nods, and leans against the doorframe. “Yes, ma’am. Fully functional stovetop too, in case you were wondering.” He says with a smile, and Amelia grins, shaking her head. “Ah, every woman’s dream, a fully functional stovetop.” She sighs, and Niall wraps his arms around her shoulders, pressing his lips against her temple. 

“My woman makes do. It’s a miracle I’m not a few hundred stone by now.” he teases, and they share a look as they laugh. Harry feels an overwhelming sense of comfort being around them, but the way Louis is glowering in the corner, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the countertop sends a streak of annoyance through Harry’s mood. 

Niall strikes up a conversation, asking Harry about his father, his home, and London, and while Harry usually isn’t about small talk, Niall seems like he is actually interested in Harry’s answers. There aren’t very many people that Harry would give genuine answers to, but Niall seems like someone Harry can trust with more things than the average person. 

Louis doesn’t say a word, instead helping Amelia pack up wrapped bowls and plates. 

Harry feels the mood begin to change as a clock in the hallway strikes ten, and Niall sighs, glancing between Harry and Louis, who is now glaring in Harry’s direction with clear disdain. “I suppose we should get this trip over with.” Louis’ words are quiet, but with an edge that rubs Harry the wrong way. “May want to tone down the enthusiasm there, mate. You might trick people into thinking you can stand the sight of me.” Harry lets some of the chill he usually reserves for ‘special occasions’ seep into his words, and Louis looks at Harry directly for the first time. Harry shouldn’t be surprised by the amount of disgust in Louis’ gaze, but he is, meeting Louis’ eyes with what he hopes is a nonchalant expression. 

“I can assure you, nobody will be thinking that.” Louis levels his words heavily, and picks up the bag Amelia has on the table. He leans in, placing a kiss to her cheek and a whisper in her ear, and brushes quickly past Harry without a second look behind him. 

Harry closes his eyes briefly, steeling himself for the car ride ahead of him, and Niall chuckles. “He’ll come around, he just doesn’t do very well with new people. He’s a great guy once you get past the prickles and burrs stage.” Niall claps a hand around Harry’s shoulders as he speaks, moving to guide him out of the kitchen. Harry hesitates for a moment, turning to Amelia. “Thank you for the tea. Your home is lovely.” He smiles, and she dips her head, smiling back as she dries her hands on a worn dish towel. “Give him time, Harry. He’ll warm up.” Her voice is gentle, but Harry can tell there's a side of nerves underneath the surface of her words. 

Harry can only assume that she knows their business, and that she knows what happens when partners can’t trust each other. 

It wouldn’t be the first time that Harry’s seen a moment of peace fall apart because of one person’s pure unwillingness to concede. 

He, however, wouldn’t be that person. 

  
  


_“Last name?” Harry swallows tightly as the commanding officer stares him down._

_“Styles, sir.”_

_“Date of birth?”_

_“February first of ‘95, sir.”_

_The exchange is silent as the officer scratches down words onto a yellow pad, the officer flicking his eyes up at Harry occasionally as he writes._

_Harry shuffles his feet, the sensation of it echoing in Harry’s slightly shakey legs._

_“Where is your current residence, then?”_

_Harry blinks, thrust into a moment of panic, considering his options._

_“London, sir.”_

_The commanding officer looks up at Harry, and Harry doesn’t look away, balling his fists next to him. The officer writes something down on the pad, and jerks his head towards the wall, where other men around Harry’s age are lined up._

_“Go get in line for your physical. Strip till you’re naked once you’re in the room.” The officer waves Harry away without another glance, and Harry picks up the rucksack that is lying next to him on the floor._

_Standing behind a man a few inches shorter than him, he inhales deeply, the sick feeling in his stomach growing stronger as he reads the various signs on the wall._

_He can hear the sounds of vomiting from a room in front of him, and he swallows as the bile rises in his throat._

_If only his father could see him now, he thinks. Shakey legs, pale face, weak stomach._

_What a son he’s turned out to be._


	2. ii

**H**

_Livin' just to keep goin'_

_Goin' just to be sane_

_All the while not knowin'_

_It's such a shame…_

_“Tighten Up” - The Black Keys_

  
  


The drive to London was one of the most awkward, uncomfortable drives Harry had ever been on. Louis had sat still in his seat, leaning against the door like he was ready to tumble out at any given second, not saying a word to Harry, and Harry not saying a word in return. 

When Harry drove through the streets of London, his chest loosened as he passed shops and buildings that he recognised well, now lit only by the street lamps around them. He snuck a glance at Louis, and he bit his lips as he fought the smile threatening to appear when he saw the slightly awestruck look on Louis’ face. “Have you never been to London before?” he asked, the words coming out strange and soft, and Louis barely shook his head, staring out the window as they drove past Buckingham Palace. “Never had the chance.” Louis responded, and Harry hummed. “You’ll learn the lay of the land soon enough. The main problem is these side streets.” He took another glance at Louis, who, to his surprise, was watching him, his face a little less stiffly set, his lean against the door more casual than defensive. He decided to risk giving Louis a quick smile, but that only earned him the return of Louis’ sullen expression, and a quick turn of his head back to the window. 

Harry had sighed quietly, and the rest of the drive had gone on in silence. 

When Harry pulls up to his tall flat building, he chuckles as he sees a familiar face walking down the footway, and he cranks down the window. “What’s a pretty lad like you doing out here this time of night?” he calls, and grins as the man leans down, a similar grin on his face. “Well, look who’s made his grand return. Where’ve you been, Styles? The kids have been asking for you.” The man grabs Harry’s extended hand and shakes it, and peers around Harry to look at Louis. “And you brought a friend! Cheers, the name’s Marcus Shelby. Nice to meet you.” The man reaches over Harry to hold his hand out for Louis to shake, and Louis takes it, a cordial smile on his face. “Louis Tomlinson. A pleasure.” 

Harry rolls his eyes, and runs a hand through his hair as he takes a quick glance around him. He’s anxious to get inside and get himself settled back in, but has no idea the condition of how he left his flat. He had left London rather abruptly, and had a feeling that he hadn’t taken the time to properly clean beforehand. 

He also hasn’t planned on coming back with anyone, especially not someone who already hates everything about him. 

A few minutes of idle chit chat and an offer from Marcus to help carry their things later, they stand in front of Harry’s door. Marcus is making Louis grin as he tells a story, free hand flying around, and Harry can’t help but feel a little peeved as he slides the key into the lock. He hasn’t made any progress with making Louis like him yet, and frankly, he doesn’t see any being made at any point soon. 

He pushes his door open, and smiles as he sees the inside of his flat, the moonlight illuminating his living room. “Hello,” he murmurs to himself, stepping into the room. He puts his bag over his shoulder and reaches out of habit to the shelf by the door, where he knows a gas lamp and a matchbox lay. He has electricity in his flat, the whole building does. He prefers the light of candles and lamps sometimes, he just doesn’t know how much his guest would appreciate that. 

His hand changes direction and flips on the light switch, his flat instantly becoming flooded with light as the overhead bulbs flicker on above him. He can hear Marcus and Louis enter behind him, Marcus still chattering on, but he moves on into his kitchen. He turns on the light, and smiles as he sees blue and white tiled flooring, his cooktop with his kettle sitting patiently, and his kitchen table, pockmarked with scratches and dents from his various cooking experiments. He places his bag down on the table, and takes out each dish that Amelia has carefully packed, smiling as he sees a note written on a piece of paper.

_Harry,_

_I hope these tide you over for the next few days._

_Take it easy on him. He’s not used to working with others._

_Bring him home safe._

_-A_

Harry purses his lips, and tucks the note into his trouser pocket, picking up the dishes as he tugs open the door to his icebox. He flicks on the radio that’s sitting beside the sink, and smiles as the notes of a familiar song fill up the room. He hums along as he wipes a rag along the countertop, his slightly obsessive need for a clean kitchen momentarily distracting him from the visitors in the other room. 

Harry looks up as he hears a knock on the table behind him, and he raises an eyebrow at Marcus, who is smirking at him. “What?” he asks, tossing a rag at Marcus, who catches it, chuckling as he answers. “You’re being a terrible host, you know.”

Harry rolls his eyes with a laboured sigh. “You should see him, mate. Didn’t say a word to me the entire trip. I don’t know I’m expected to do this with someone who can’t even stand to have a conversation with me.” Harry keeps his voice down, not knowing where Louis may be, and Marcus sighs. “You haven’t even given him a chance. He’s not a bad guy, H. I think he just… doesn’t know what to do with you.” 

Harry cocks his head, frowning, but he can tell that Marcus isn’t going to explain his answer. He sighs again, but softer this time. “Yeah. I’ll figure it out.” 

He steps around the table, wrapping an arm around Marcus’ shoulder with a click of his tongue. “You know what, I think Louis would do well staying with you and the girls for the rest of the trip. You may not need the constable to make a home check this way.” Harry teases, and Marcus laughs, leaning into Harry’s grip as they walk out of the kitchen. Harry sees Louis lean quickly away from the picture he was looking at, the one ornately framed in silver and resting on a table next to a stack of books that Harry still hasn’t managed to get through. The picture is one that Harry knows well, and is of his mother, sister, and an almost unrecognisable version of himself. It was one taken while his father was away, which is a common theme with most of the family pictures Harry has in his possession. Louis shoves his hands in his pockets, and shuffles his feet as they approach. “Well, I’m headed home for the night. If you need me to come save you, Louis, I’m just a flight of stairs away.” Marcus winks, and gives Harry one last squeeze on the arm before he sweeps out of the front door, shutting it firmly behind him, and Harry and Louis are alone again. 

The flat somehow feels colder, and a lot bigger than before. 

Harry clears his throat, running a hand through his hair, awkwardly trying to stir the silence. “I’ll, erm. I’ll show you to your room? It’s not much, but I don’t often have guests that.. use it.” 

Harry isn’t lying about that. He rarely has guests stay the night, and if he does, it’s in his own room. 

Louis nods, and picks up his bag from the floor. He silently follows Harry to the guest room, and Harry pleads with his last self, hoping he had thought to straighten it up at some point. He opens the door and clicks on the light, and feels an odd sense of relief, seeing the small, neatly made bed in the corner, underneath a window overlooking the city. “This is you. If you need anything, there’s a toilet down the hall. Second door on the right.” Harry steps out of the way for Louis to enter, and Louis looks around. “Thank you.” He says, voice civil and unaffected, and Harry nods, his hand already on the doorknob to exit when Louis speaks up again. 

“He said his last name is Shelby.” Louis doesn’t phrase this as a question, but Harry knows what he’s asking. “A cousin. Tries to stay out of their way, but every so often gets dragged into it. He’s a good guy. Got a wife and two daughters, bless him.” Harry smiles to himself as he thinks about the Shelby girls, both of whom will braid knots into Harry’s hair and wrap his neck in ribbons if given even a moment’s chance. Louis hums, and they stand in silence for a few seconds more before Harry turns out of the room, closing the door behind him without another word. 

He slowly walks back down the hallway into his front room, and drags his hand over the armchairs sitting around a glass coffee table. He sits, closing his eyes as the upholstery wraps around him, and he leans his head against the backrest, rubbing his hands over his face. He feels the tiredness itch at his brain, but he doesn’t want to go to his room just yet. He opens his eyes, and looks out the window nearest him, the drapes open to expose the city buildings, and in the near distance, the river. He chews on the inside of his lip absently (nasty, unseemly habit it is), and lets his mind drift. 

Before he knows it, he sees the sky begin to lighten, the moon disappearing, and the pinkish red of the sun taking its place. He stands, walking over to his window,, and looks out over the streets. 

He can see people walking the streets, the newspaper boys already heading to the warehouse to get their daily wares, the fishermen heading to the docks to begin their days on the water, the washer ladies carrying large bags of clothing as they talk and laugh. 

He’s missed London. He’s missed this, the early morning hustle and bustle of life here. 

His sister Gemma had loved the city. He remembers their trips here when they were children, running through the back gardens of their parents’ rich friends, eating rolls and sweets from the carts driving past. 

He remembers how they had talked about running away, and how they had planned to buy a house in the city, and live off of fish and chips until they were old. 

He smiles to himself, and watches the sun rise.

  
  
  


**L**

Louis can’t take sitting in his room anymore. He’s laid in this bed for hours, the clicking of the blasted clock on the wall being the only sound he can hear through the rushing in his ears. He tried opening the window, but that just brought bugs into the room. He tried stripping all his clothes off and laying on the sheets, letting his bare skin feel the softness of the (what he assumes to be) expensive sheets beneath him. He tried lighting a lamp and reading one of the many books on the shelf across the room, but he couldn’t shut his brain off long enough to focus. 

He had ended up putting his clothes back on, and now he’s sitting on the bed, fiddling with the pocketwatch he had bought himself a few years ago, the hinge loosening precariously. Louis stands, and walks over to the doorway, slowly turning the handle to open the door, wary of any noise that may come from it. 

The flat is quiet, save only for the sounds of the radio static from another room, and Louis wonders what it’s still doing on as he takes a few steps down the hallway. He stops suddenly, his eyes drawn into the front room, and stares ahead of him. He sees Harry standing in front of a window, the early morning sunlight wrapping itself around him as he stands with his hands deep in his pockets. He wears only his trousers and a white shirt that is almost halfway unbuttoned, and Louis can see the silhouette of Harry’s body through the light material. 

Harry somehow seems scarier now, more than standoffish and cocky. He seems large, and unapproachable.

Louis shouldn’t be nervous. He’s dealt with bigger and worse problems than a kid who’s got a sharp tongue and an arsenal of tricks up his sleeve. 

He shouldn’t be nervous. 

Louis quickly turns around and heads back to his room, the door clicking behind him as he shuts it. He pulls his shirt over his head, and kicks his shoes off before slipping into the bed, tugging the duvet up to his chin and squeezing his eyes closed. 

He won’t be nervous tomorrow.

**H**

_Under cover_

_The cloak and dagger_

_Is there a creature in the attic?_

_Are we for real yeah_

_Or just pretending_

_Will it burn it out by the morning_

_“Night Running” - Cage The Elephant_

  
  


Harry doesn’t end up sleeping at all, against his own better judgement. He finds himself in the kitchen at half past eight, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, frying up eggs and sausage, and warming Amelia’s leftover rolls in the oven.

He contemplates walking to Louis’ room to see if he’s awake, but thinks better of it, counting on Louis’ nose to wake him as the scent of breakfast begins to waft through the apartment. Harry turns up the radio a few notches more, and pushes open the window above the sink, inhaling the slightly murky London air with a small smile. A song he knows well is playing, and he hums along as he pulls plates out of the cupboard. 

He freezes as he hears the clearing of a throat from behind him, and he turns to see Louis standing in the kitchen doorway, looking a little worse for the wear as he shifts around awkwardly.

“Uh. Good morning?” Harry sets the plates down on the kitchen table next to two mugs, one of which already full with a steaming cup of tea. Louis nods curtly, and gives him a tight lipped smile (grimace). 

_‘Progress?’_ , Harry thinks to himself. 

“I made breakfast. Nothing special, I need to kip out to the shops.” Harry gestures to the stove, his movements feeling uncharacteristically jerky, and Louis’ smile seems to fade into something slightly more genuine. “I can see that.” Louis’. voice is scratchy and soft, and Harry doubts Louis got much sleep either. 

Harry quietly spoons some eggs and a few sausages onto the plates, and gestures to the tea kettle. “I’ve got some teas in the cupboard next to the window, and there’s sugar and cream. Help yourself.” He pushes a mug and a plate in Louis’ direction, and sits himself in a chair on the opposite end of the table. He discreetly watches as Louis opens the cupboard, and makes a satisfied noise as he finds a suitable tin of tea. 

They don’t say another word for the rest of breakfast, the only sounds in the flat being the tinny songs on the radio, and the voices coming from the already bustling streets outside the open window.

_Harry grins, looking over the table, the boy in front of him leaning away, cheeks red. “You’re meaning to tell me that after all this time, you’ve never seen what a pair of tits looks like? Jesus, Nicky, your brother’s the priest, not you.”_

_The other boy scoffs, and looks back to Harry, scowling. “Of course I’ve seen them before. I just think that it’s-”_

_The two boys startle as a door slams open, and they both turn their heads to see a man standing in the doorway, one that Harry recognises as one of his father’s employees._

_Or, someone that Harry thinks is an employee. He still isn’t too sure what his father does._

_“Harry, your father needs to see you.”_

_Harry settles back into his chair with a shake of his head. “If he’s going to have me run on another stupid errand that he can send one of his pageboys for, you may as well tell him that I’d rather snap my own neck. I’m sick of him treating my like a fucking servant.” Harry slumps in his seat, and Nicholas looks at him, frowning. “C’mon, H. I’ll go with you, it won’t be all bad.” He tosses a leftover biscuit into Harry’s lap, and the man in the doorway clears his throat. “Harry, you really need to come with me. Alone.” Harry rolls his eyes to look at the man again, and is slightly taken aback by the somber expression on his face. “Well, what exactly is it this time?” he asks, and the man watches him carefully._

_“It’s your sister.”_

  
  


It’s a strange thing, trying to figure out the balance between himself and Louis. On the one hand, Harry feels like he is making some sort of progress, since Louis hasn’t actively treated him like dog shit on the bottom of his shoe. But on the other, there is still that uncomfortable degree of separation between the two of them, one that makes Harry nervous. 

He knows Louis doesn’t like him, and he doesn’t necessarily like Louis, but liking someone in this business isn’t the most important thing in the world. Something a million times more important than ‘like’ is trust, and Harry doesn’t think he can trust Louis with anything more than to not stab him in the throat at the first opportune moment (maybe). 

He feels like a stranger in his own home, and it’s starting to make him antsy. 

They were supposed to have gotten a call at around midday, and nothing has come through the line yet at 5pm. Harry had set up shop in his usual chair, sitting next to the window with a book in his hand, only half heartedly reading as he kept an ear out for Louis stirring about. Louis had confined himself in his room after breakfast, avoiding Harry like the damned plague, and save coming out for lunch, Harry hasn’t heard a sound from him since. 

Harry sighs, closing his book and setting it on the side table next to him, and slides deeper into his chair. He rests his cheek on his palm as he watches the dust specks catch the late afternoon sunlight driving through the windowpane. 

He’s startled by the shrill ringing of the telephone on a table across from him, and he stares at it for a moment before standing, reaching out to pick up the receiver in his hand. He glances to his left as he sees a figure standing in the hallway, and Louis crosses his arms, watching Harry with a wary expression. 

Placing the receiver to his ear, he hears the buzz of static over the words being spoken. “Harry? It’s Nick.”

“Mate. Any word from Wes?” Harry curls the cord around his finger absently, and Nicholas hums. “Yeah. He wants you to do a few sweeps before trying to talk them into anything. Hey, how’s Louis? You rip each other’s eyes out yet?” Nicholas’ tone is teasing, and Harry chuckles, taking another quick look at the man standing stiffly in the hallway. 

“Not yet. There are still hours left in the day, though.” 

Nicholas laughs, the sound cracking. “Keep your lid on, H. Heard he’s a real tosser when he’s riled up.” Harry looks out the window, shaking his head with a small smile. London seems a little less cold and grey today, with the sun making a rare appearance to warm them. 

“Anyway. Sit tight until tonight, you should get more information by then.” Harry bites down a little harder on his lip, and scowls. “What am I supposed to do with him until tonight?” he mutters, and Nicholas laughs again, this time sharper and less amused. “I’m sure you can think of a few things. Ta, Harold.” 

With that, the phone clicks dead, and Harry stares at it, buzzing in his hand. He hears Louis clear his throat from behind him, and Harry places the phone down before turning fully, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. 

Louis quirks an inquisitive eyebrow. “Anything important?” Louis’ voice still sounds foreign to Harry, but he shakes his head. “Nothing yet. Told us to sit tight until they call.” Harry scuffs his foot against the rug, and Louis hums. The silence stretches between them, the ticking clock loud and prominent, the sound eating at Harry's patience. 

Louis clears his throat again. “I’m, um. Just going to grab some water, if that’s alright.” His voice is non-expressive, and Harry nods once, still staring at the clock. He can hear Louis pad into the kitchen, and he hears the clink of glass, and water being poured a few moments later. 

The clock ticks on, and Harry feels his chest tighten as he stares at it. He resists the urge to rip it off the wall, his fingers tapping against his thigh where they rest in his pockets.

Harry spins on his heel, quickly moving across the room to where his coat hangs next to the door. Slipping it over his arms, he shoves his cap onto his head before pulling the door open, closing it hard behind him. 

He strides to the end of the hallway, buttoning his coat as he thumps down the flights of stairs, dodging people as they move the opposite way. He shoves the exit door open, and as the cold wind hits him, he flips up the collar of his coat. His pace is swift and sharp as he makes his way down the street, not sparing a glance back to his flat building behind him. 

He doesn’t have a location in mind as he walks, the sounds of busy London echoing in his mind, the thud of his feet hitting the ground sending pulses through his calves, the breeze snaking through his hair and down his neck. He needed to get out of the flat, and he doesn’t necessarily care where he ends up. 

After a few minutes of walking, he finds himself taking a familiar route, one that’s very ingrained in his memory. The sun is close to setting on the horizon now. It’s going to bed quicker and quicker each night, and the sky burns reddish gold behind the thick grey of the smokestacks. 

He glances quickly around as he finds himself approaching a discreet brick building. Knocking on the large wooden door in a heavy staccato rhythm, he schools his face into a casual expression as he hears quiet clunking from behind it, and dons a nonchalant smile as the door opens.

He doesn’t worry about letting anyone know where he is as he steps into the building, shaking the hand of the man who let him in.

His father’s men will find him. They always do. 

  
  


**L**

_“What all do you think is out there?”_

_Louis turns over, an eyebrow raised as a small smile pulls up his lip. “That’s a loaded question.”_

_He hears a sigh, and the cot next to him creaks in the darkness. “I’m serious, Lou. We have no idea what’s waiting out there for us. They could have weapons we haven’t even dreamt up yet.”_

_Louis leans up onto his elbow, his eyes looking at the figure lying to his right. “Hey. Whatever it is, you know that I’ve got your back through it. You know that, right?”_

_He receives a soft hum in answer. “You can’t save everybody, Louis. No matter how hard you try.”_

_A small chuckle of air escapes Louis’ nose, and he leans back, resting his head against the thin pillow as he looks out the skylight above him._

_“I don’t want to save everybody.”_

  
  
  


Louis is flipping through one of the pages of a book he found when he hears the shrill ring of the phone. His head turns towards the door as he rises to his feet, dropping the book, and he moves across the room to quickly open it.

Stepping out into the hallway, he sees Harry staring at the ringing phone, pausing for a moment before he stands to pick it up. Louis leans against the wall, crossing his arms protectively across his chest as Harry glances at him. He looks particularly dishevelled, his hair flopping around in a way that Louis is certain would drive him crazy, and a slight flush to his cheeks. 

Harry turns away from him as he speaks to the caller, and Louis is slightly irked as he tries to listen to the words behind spoken. He hears nothing but a soft chuckle, and until Harry stiffens, there is nothing to show which direction the conversation has taken. 

The phone call ends as quickly as it began, with Harry yet again staring at the phone in his hand, his hand. 

Louis isn’t sure where to go from here. He’s never had to worry about having a partner as uncommunicative as Harry (even though it may partially be his fault). He clears his throat, hoping to egg the other man into sharing the information he received. “Anything important?” he asks, keeping his voice calm and hopefully nonchalant, and Harry looks at him, his jaw set tightly, and shakes his head. “Nothing yet. Told us to sit tight until they call.” Harry’s tone is clipped, his words short and with a twinge of annoyance, and Louis glances at Harry’s feet as he scuffs his boot against the rug that probably costs more than Louis’ soul. 

Louis notices him glance at the clock in front of him, and Louis clears his throat again as he sees Harry’s expression darken. 

“I’m just going to grab some water, if that’s alright?” Louis doesn’t know why he asks. Harry had told him to make himself at home, and usually Louis has no problem with that. He wouldn’t have any problem at all doing this if he wasn’t worried about Harry snapping and pulling a gun on him, especially with whatever mood that phone call had put him in. Harry nods once, his eyes never leaving the clock, and Louis quickly walks from the hallway to the kitchen. 

He closes eyes when he enters, sighing quietly to himself. He braces his hands against the countertop, listening to the soft radio playing over the noises outside on the streets. When he opens his eyes, he reaches out to the shelf next to him and grabs a small, blue tinted glass, one that was probably heirloom or imported from Spain or something, and turns the tap. 

Louis takes down a full glass in one quick gulp, and exhales deeply, wiping his mouth with his free hand. He feels the scratch of his stubble coming back with a vengeance, and he sighs. He needs to shave soon, but frankly he doesn’t know why he bothers. He’s always looked young for his age, and the beard makes him feel more like he could be taken seriously. 

He’s about to refill his water glass when he hears a door slam shut from the other room, and he spins around, leaving the glass on the counter as he goes to stand in the doorway. 

Harry is nowhere to be found, and Louis sighs, annoyed.

Of course he’d just piss off and do God knows what, leaving Louis alone to stew in his expensive fucking flat. Of course. 

Louis returns to the kitchen, muttering curses under his breath as he stares out the window above the sink. 

He looks down at the street, and a few moments later, sees a tall figure striding down the street, head down against the wind. Louis’ nose turns up as he recognises the figure, and scoffs, turning away from the window. “What a prick. Can’t believe I was even entertaining the idea of playing friends. What kind of dick leaves someone he doesn’t even know in his own flat like this?” Louis scoffs, kicking at the unfortunate white kitchen chair that was in his way as he exited the kitchen, taking his glass with him. 

He decided to go sit in the front room, a place he hadn’t spent hardly any time in at all since he first came. 

Louis smirks as he sits in the chair Harry had been sitting in, propping his legs up on a table that held books and papers that seemed luxurious and important, and shoved them to the side. Looking around him, he has a lovely view of London, complete with the river and the bridge. Taking a sip of his water, he glances at the books in front of him. 

“Wuthering Heights? What the fuck is a wuthering height?” he mumbles to himself, grabbing a blue bound tome from the table, and he flips it open, scanning the cover. 

Reading the first page, he settles into the chair, glancing first at the clock on the wall. It’s almost half past five, which gives him about an hour more of light before he should get up to turn on some lights. He isn’t sure how this flat building worked, but if it’s anything like Niall’s, the electric won’t turn on until near seven. 

With a sigh, he decides he’d worry about that later, instead turning the page to read. 

Louis blinks as his eyes adjust to the quick burst of light from the lamp next to him, and he rubs them before sitting back in the chair. He looks up at the clock, and sees that it reads half past seven. The sky outside is dark now, the streets being lit by lamps scattered across the city. 

There’s been no sign of Harry in these two hours, but Louis can’t find himself to really mind yet. He hasn’t felt this at peace in days, at least not since he was last at Niall’s. 

He picks up Wuthering Heights again, and flips to the page he had lightly dog eared. The fold is not out of place among the multiple others that have been made before, showing that this book has been read and well loved for some time, and Louis can see why.

He wonders how many times Harry has read this book as he softly strokes the binding, that seems more worn than when Louis had first picked it up. 

Returning to the story, he tucks his feet up underneath him as he gets lost in the tale. 

Before he knows it, the clock is striking 10, and Louis sits up with a start. Taking glances around him, he hears nothing in the quiet flat, and sees no other lights on than the lamp next to him. Louis frowns, and places the book down on the table in front of him. He groans as he stands, his joints stiff and sore from lack of movement, and he runs a hand through his hair. 

“Harry?” he calls out, but he hears no sound. He takes a few steps into the entryway and flicks on a light. It illuminates the rest of the flat, and Louis can see that all the doors are still closed, and the lights in the kitchen are still off. His stomach rumbles softly, but he ignores it as he moves toward the bedrooms. 

He stands in front of Harry’s bedroom for a moment, hesitant, but twists the knob open anyway. Louis isn’t sure what to expect from this room, but what he sees when he turns on the light definitely isn’t it. 

The bed is still made, the sheets barely touched, but this room looks more lived in than the rest of the entire flat. There are more books stacked on a small wooden chair to Louis’ right, and a lamp resting on one side of the bed. Louis can see clothes in a small pile on the far side of the room, like they’d been taken off in a hurry, and he takes another few steps into the room. 

He sees photos in frames on a table next to the bed, and he glances around him before moving closer. Picking up one of the photos, he looks down at the four faces preserved in the print. He sees a familiar Wesley Styles, and sneers at it before taking in the other three faces. 

A much younger Harry stares back at him, dressed in a stiff shirt and suit. His face is unnaturally solemn as too-long curls frame his childish cheeks, and Louis looks at him, his eyebrows furrowing. What happened to turn that child into… whatever Harry is, he wonders. 

The other two faces are entirely unfamiliar to Louis. A girl sits next to Harry, a few years older, but just as solemn as Harry. Her hair is also long and dark, but not curly like Harry’s. However, the woman standing behind her has curls, and has a small smile on her face. Louis sees a dimple in her left cheek, similar to one he saw briefly on Harry’s when they were at Niall’s (but hasn’t seen since). 

He has heard that Wes had a wife, but didn’t know anything about a daughter. Harry hadn’t said anything about it, but then again, why would he tell Louis anything? 

Louis places the photo back down on the table, and looks around himself again, slipping his hands into his pockets. There is a small clock on the wall, and he chews on his lip as he sees the time. 

He shouldn’t be nervous about where Harry is. Harry knows this city like the back of his hand, and Louis doesn’t even really care that he’s gone. 

However: Louis does care about what happens to himself if Wes or Simon call, and Harry’s not here. 

Flicking the light off and closing the door behind him as he exits the room, he slowly walks back to the main room. There he stands for a few moments, a contemplative frown lining his forehead. He tosses his head back with a groan, and grabs his coat and cap from the rack next to the door, turning the light off behind him as he exits the flat. 

He remembers as he walks that Marcus had told him that he lives a flight of stairs down, in flat C. He supposed he’d check there first instead of walking across London like an idiot. 

Knocking at the door labelled C and bearing the name Shelby, he shifts from one foot to the other, taking cautious glances around him as he waits. The lock on the door clicks open, and he smiles as Marcus’ wary face appears, but Marcus quickly breaks into a grin as he recognises Louis. 

“Hey, mate. Harry kicked you out already? Everything okay at home?” Marcus teases, and Louis chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not quite. Suppose I’m the one who kicked him out, I haven’t seen him all day. Not supposing he’s here with you?” Louis nods his head towards inside the flat, and Marcus sighs, shaking his head. “I knew he’d be back to this sooner or later. Come on in, I’ll tell you where to find him.” Marcus opens the door wider for Louis, who walks in, removing his cap as he does so. He nods to a woman standing to the side, and she gives him a small smile. 

Marcus walks to a small table, pulling out a pad of paper before running a pencil across it quickly. “This is the address. You’ll need to knock three times in a row, wait a beat, and then knock a fourth. Once you’re in, just say Harry’s name and they won’t bother you. Granted…” Marcus looks Louis up and down, and gives him a smirk before continuing, “...you may not have any trouble at all, considering.” 

Louis’ eyes squint as Marcus hands him the piece of paper, and he glances at the address on it. “What do you mean, considering?” he asks, and Marcus smirks again. “Just make sure you get him home safe, mate. You don’t want to be responsible if Wes finds out where he’s been.” Marcus claps a hand to Louis’ shoulder, and Louis snorts. “I’ve dealt with much worse than Wes. I think I can handle whatever Harry’s gotten himself into,” Louis folds the address and shoves it in his pocket as they walk, and Marcus laughs, shaking his head with a sigh. “I’m sure you can, Louis. Let me know if you need a hand with him.” 

Louis puzzles over Marcus’ slightly cryptic answers as he walks, the London night calmer now, the moon high above him in the sky. Where could Harry go that would get him into trouble with Wes, he thinks. 

A poker club? The Shelby’s and the Twist’s practically run all of them, so it’s not like he’d have an issue there. 

Maybe he’s part of a fighting ring, Louis snorts. As if. 

Following the streets and counting the numbers, he reaches the address Marcus had listed in about twenty minutes time. Louis frowns, and looks around him. 

He’s standing in front of an inconspicuous brick townhome, windows shuttered and door painted dark brown. Mounting the stairs, he remembers Marcus’ insurrections to knock, and he does so, knocking three consecutive beats and then waiting before knocking a fourth. After a moment, he hears clunking from behind, and the door opens to reveal a man standing in front of him, head to toe in black evening wear, and who is staring at Louis expectantly.

“Can I help you, sir?” the man asks, and Louis stutters for a moment before replying with, “Harry Styles?”

His response phrases itself more as a question, and the man nods, a courteous smile appearing on his face. “Of course, sir. Right this way.” The man moves aside for Louis to enter, and Louis follows him after watching him close the door again, locking a series of deadbolts before making his way down a dimly lit hallway. 

Louis hears quiet music coming from somewhere in the house, and the man leads him downstairs and through a series of doors before stopping in front of one. Pulling it open for Louis, he gives him a small bow before gesturing into the room as the music gets louder. “Master Styles should be at the bar, sir. Please, make yourself comfortable.” 

Louis’ brow furrows deeper as he sees men seated in various areas around the large, open room, some on luxurious chaise lounges, some around round tables playing cards or poker, and some at a long bar located along a far wall, a piano player playing a sultry tune in the same general direction. 

Louis feels some eyes flickering to him, and he makes a mental notice that he is severely underdressed, walking past men dressed in suit jackets and polished leather shoes. He still has no idea exactly what he walked into as he makes his way to the bar, looking around for Harry’s curly mop among these sharply dressed men. The barkeep walks up to him, a smile on his face. 

“Hello, stranger. You seem a bit lost tonight. Can I do you for a scotch?” the man asks, leaning on the rich wood while wiping a spot only noticeable to himself, it would seem, and Louis raises an eyebrow as he nods, taking a seat at one of the barstools. “Lost?” he keeps his tone slightly reserved, and the man looks back up at him, eyes flickering over Louis’ face. “You’re not part of the usual crowd I see in here. Then again, what do I really know about the usual crowd and what they’re like?” the man chuckles to himself, pouring out a measure of scotch into a glass and sliding it to Louis. Louis takes another glance around him, noting that the eyes of an older man he saw earlier hadn’t left him, and Louis nods, turning away quickly. Louis swirls the scotch around in the glass, and shoots it without a second thought, the burn welcome and warm in his chest. He sighs, placing the glass back on the counter. “I’m actually here looking for someone.”

The barkeep looks at Louis with a smirk as he speaks, and chuckles again as he pours a refill into Louis’ glass. “Everyone here is looking for someone, mate. Pick your poison.” he says as another man walks up to the bar, standing a little too close to Louis for comfort. Louis tries to discreetly shift the other way, but the man who had walked up next to him is now looking at him with a smile, his crisp suit and cologne giving an air of pure lavishness and ego. 

“You’re not a familiar face.” The man’s voice is syrupy, his sentence more a question, and Louis hums. “You’d be correct.” He doesn’t want to engage with this man. He’s here for Harry, and he isn’t even really sure where ‘here’ is. He wants to find Harry, get out, and go home before any of Wes or Simon’s men come to call. 

Louis can sense the man standing closer, and he stiffens, his hand automatically going to his breast pocket to feel for his gun. The man clicks his tongue, and places a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “We’re all on the same side in this room, there’s no need for that.” 

Louis freezes, and his eyes dart to meet the ones of the man standing next to him, who is now watching him with a slightly more guarded expression, but the smile is still firm on his lips. 

“Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re really here? I can tell it’s not for… the company.” The man rests one elbow against the bar, and Louis blinks, realisation slowly flooding his brain. 

Jesus fucking Lord, he thinks to himself. 

He’s in a speakeasy… for men. For _specific_ men.

Louis inhales deeply, his hands balling next to him as he tries to find the quickest way out, Harry absolutely be damned. The doorway is behind him, and at risk of offending the gentleman next to him, he could spin around on his stool and make a run for it. He’s just about to up and take the risk when he hears a laugh from around the corner, and he quickly turns to that direction. 

Louis grits his teeth as he sees Harry, whose cheeks are flushed as his arm dangles over the side of a chaise lounge, and whose legs slung over another man about their own age, a man who is grinning like a cheshire cat that won the lottery as he leans in to Harry. Harry is holding a drink in his hand, and by the looks of him, this is not his first. 

The man next to Louis gives a deep chuckle, and straightens. “Ah. Young Master Styles. Quite a lovely regular. He’s been out of town for the last few weeks, we’ve all missed him so.”

Louis feels something rise in his throat as he glares back at the man. “Have you, mate? Well, I’ve come to take him the fuck home, so if you don’t mind.” Louis stands from his stool, and the man’s eyes widen as Louis walks away, his hands still in fists at his side. 

As he approaches, the man seated next to Harry notices him, and gives him a quick raised eyebrow. “I think we’ve got company, Harry.” he says, his tone as syrupy-fake as the other gentleman’s, and Louis scoffs as Harry slowly (and drunkenly) turns, a lighthearted smile on his face that quickly falls as his eyes land on Louis. 

“I’m not here to be a part of whatever this fucking is. I’m here to take Harry home, because unless he’s completely forgotten, we have a job to do.” Louis hisses, and Harry rolls his eyes, taking a long pull from his glass. “Fuck off, Louis, and leave me alone. ‘S what you wanted anyway, right? To be away from me?” Harry’s words are slow and bigger, more slow than they usually are, and the man seated next to him snickers darkly. “Trouble in paradise? Come on, Louis, lighten up.” The man pats the cushion next to him, and Louis scowls deeper. 

“I’m serious, Harry. Don’t make me drag you out of here. I have no ties here, I don’t give a fuck what they think of me, and I definitely don’t give a fuck about what you think, so help me God, you had better stand up.” Louis lets all the disgust and anger and embarrassment he’s currently feeling into his words, and Harry pauses and looks up at him. 

Louis meets Harry’s eyes, and he sees them cloud over as Harry stands, wobbling as he leans on the back of the couch. “Fine.” Harry’s response is as cold as Louis had expected it to be, and he grabs Harry’s bicep to lead him towards the exit without a second glance to the very put-off man they’re leaving behind. 

Louis can tell that there are people watching them as he guides Harry up the stairs, but Harry more or less doesn’t need him as he takes his coat and cap from the same man who has let Louis in before. “Thank you, Ivan.” Harry mumbles, and the man nods, smiling for a moment at Louis. “Have a good night, gentlemen.” Ivan holds open the big main door for them, and Louis nods in return, adjusting his grip on Harry as they walk. 

The cold air seems to wake Harry up a bit as they travel in silence, but he’s still dragging his feet behind him as they move at a snail’s pace, and Louis huffs impatiently. “For god’s sake, Harry, you think you could walk any faster?” Louis snaps, and Harry snorts, tossing his head back. “If it bothers you so much, leave me behind. I know my way home.” Harry’s words are still slurred and barely intelligible, and Louis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, so you can run back to the rich dickhead trying his luck with you in a speakeasy instead of doing the job you were sent here to do. Sounds brilliant, mate.” Louis keeps an eye on the street numbers as he walks, and Harry sighs deeply, a loud chuckle following quickly. 

“You know what, Louis? Do you know what you are?” Harry asks, stopping suddenly with a wobble, and Louis scowls, turning to face him. “No, Harry, please enlighten me. Who do you _think_ I am, I’m just dying to know?” Louis keeps his voice low, but Harry is looking at him with such contempt and disdain that Louis is hard pressed to keep from sending his fist into Harry’s perfect Adonis jaw. 

“You’re a fraud.” Harry all but whispers the words, and Louis blinks at him. “You pretend like you know everything, and that you’re the gods’ gift to mankind, and that you’re special because Simon sends you to do his dirty work. But you’re not. You’re just like all the rest of them.” Harry’s words are a hiss now, and Louis grinds his teeth as he grabs Harry’s arm, yanking him forward. 

“Whatever you say, Styles. You don’t even know me.” Louis shakes his head, stomping quickly down the street as Harry stumbles behind him, and Harry laughs darkly. “I don’t even have to know you. I know a hundred people just like you. We’re all just looking for a reason to exist, and yours is to pretend that you’re special.” 

Louis feels Harry’s words pierce him against his will. “You don’t even know the half of who I am, mate. And at this rate, I’m not all that willing to let you learn.” Louis keeps his eyes straight ahead as Harry stays silent, and they finally fall in rhythm with each other as they walk. 

“Why not?” Harry asks after a moment, and Louis barks a laugh as he shakes his head again, this time incredulously. “Are you really asking me that? After all that shit you just spewed about me? God, you’re delusional.” Louis rubs his eyes, and he feels Harry hesitate. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be mean.” Harry’s voice is soft, kinder than it was a few minutes ago, but Louis is still too angry to really notice. “Oh, I’m sure. First, you don’t say a word to me the entire drive to this stupid city, and then on only my second night here, you send me on a goose chase to bring you back to a flat in a neighbourhood that I don’t even know because you threw a temper tantrum and decided that getting drunk with old rich blokes would be better than being around me. _Then,_ you accuse me of being a faker and only existing to be someone’s special helper? What the _fuck_ gives you the idea that I’d want to let you learn who I really am after all that, especially since some spoiled, narcissistic bastard has already told me about what he thinks of me?” Louis spins, shoving Harry away from him, but instead of the resistance he’s expecting, Harry almost seems to fold away from him. Harry stares at him with wide, sad eyes, and Louis breathes heavily as he stares right back, hands dangling next to him. 

“Is that what you think of me? A narcissistic bastard?” Harry murmurs, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, and Louis snorts. “Don’t forget spoiled. Top of the list.” His words still carry a venom, and as Harry looks down to his feet, Louis is reminded of a dog, or a child that’s been sternly reprimanded. “I’m not spoiled.” Harry mutters, and Louis rolls his eyes, sighing as he turns away. “Whatever you say. Let’s just go, I don’t like being on the streets at night.” Louis begins walking again, and he hears Harry trailing behind him. 

They walk in silence for almost the rest of the way back to the flat, before Louis notices that Harry is dragging farther and farther behind. He pauses, and sees that Harry is all but crawling now. Louis watches him for a moment. Harry truly looks miserable, his face pulled down into a taut frown, his eyes half-lidded and glassy, his long legs doing more harm than good as he stumbles along. Louis purses his lips, feeling a wave of remorse flood him for a moment. Louis takes a step towards him, and Harry looks up to wave him away. “I know the way home. Leave m’ here.” Harry mumbles, and Louis shakes his head, leaning over to wrap one of Harry’s arms around his shoulder. 

“You won’t make it home before sunrise. We’re lucky Simon hasn’t sent anyone after us yet as it is.” Louis starts walking Harry along, keeping tight hold of his wrist and waist as they approach the gates to the flat building. Harry begins to slump against him as they walk into the building, and Louis grits his teeth, now understanding what Marcus had meant about needing a hand. 

“How often do you do this, Harry?” Louis grunts as he hefts Harry up the stairs, and Harry shrugs, clumsily taking the railing. “Only when I need to.” 

Louis frowns. “What do you mean, when you need to? Don’t you have enough to do?” he asks, and Harry shrugs again, his head lolling to the side. “When I get sad, and need to forget to.” Harry’s words are mumbled whispers, and Louis blinks at them. They take the rest of the stairs in silence, save for Harry’s snuffles and Louis’ heavy breathing. 

A few more flights and more than a few stumbles and curse words later, Louis is opening the door to Harry’s flat, and is guiding him towards his bedroom. He turns on the light, and Harry clumsily tugs at his jacket sleeves as he moves towards the bed. Louis watches him, momentarily conflicted, and then steps out of the doorway, closing the door behind him. 

He stands there for a few seconds, listening, before turning to walk toward his own bedroom. 

He stops when he hears a door open, and when he turns around, Harry is standing across from him. His shirt is unbuttoned down to his navel, and his hair is somehow messier and wilder than when Louis had first found him tonight, and he’s watching Louis with a small frown. Louis raises an eyebrow, and Harry opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it just as quickly. 

Louis signs, but before he can say anything else, Harry pipes up. 

“It’s not fair that you blame me for not talking to you in the car. You weren’t very nice to me at Niall’s. Or at the hotel. Or at all.” Harry takes a step forward and continues, Louis standing silently and still. “You didn’t even really give me a chance. I know I was a dick to you in the meeting with my father. But it’s what I had to do. You didn’t have to be that mean to me, Louis.” 

Harry’s words are still slurring, and he’s still wavering on his feet, but Louis feels a moment of guilt flash through him as he sees Harry’s hurt expression. Louis inhales, and then exhales quickly through his nose. “I’m sorry. I was a bit of a dick, and it was out of line.” Louis speaks softly, and Harry nods, leaning against the doorframe. 

“I still don’t really like you.” Harry says matter-of-factly , and Louis snorts a laugh. “I still don’t really like you either, Harry. But I won’t take it out on you, as long as you don’t run off like this anymore.” Louis reaches a hand out, and Harry looks at it, then back up at Louis as he takes it. Louis’ hand is almost entirely covered by Harry’s larger one, and even though Louis’ hands are strong and can hold their own, Harry’s seem fleetingly daunting. Louis meets Harry’s eyes as they shake, and Harry gives him a small, right smile. 

“Well then. Goodnight, Tomlinson.” Harry’s voice is kinder than Louis’ heard it, and Louis returns a similar smile to Harry. “Goodnight, Styles.” 

They close the doors to their respective rooms, and Louis doesn't hear another sound for the rest of the night. 

In the morning, Harry is cordial to Louis, but he’s no longer cold, and Louis is the same. When the awaited phone call from an angry Wes comes, Harry takes it in the lounge, and when he returns, Louis thinks he is ready for whatever is coming their way. 

What he isn’t prepared for are the words Harry actually says. 

“How do you feel about weddings?” 

**H**

_Try to seek the truth tellers_

_They never stay around_

_It's not what they say_

_It's how they push you right down in the ground._

_“Secret’s In The Sunset” - Goodbye June_

  
  


Harry wasn’t exactly expecting his father to be pleased with the little stunt he had pulled. If anything, he was expecting a lot worse than what he actually got, which was just a few minutes of angry threats. 

However, when his father had told him about the first order of business, Harry definitely wasn’t prepared for what he was told. 

Louis, apparently, is just as shocked as Harry, judging from the blank stare on his face after Harry informs him of the content of the call. “So, we’re… chaperoning a wedding?” Louis asks, deadpan, and Harry chuckles, shaking his head. “No, I think we’re actually going as guests. Maybe glorified sitters, to make sure everyone gets along.” 

Louis scoffs, leaning back in his chair, and Harry watches him as the early morning sunlight floods the kitchen. “This is their master plan, then? Send men to weddings and hope for the best?” Louis mumbles, and Harry shrugs. “Rather go to a wedding than a funeral, mate.” 

Louis still seems miffed after that, but makes no further comments as he gathers their empty plates from the table. Harry watches him for a moment, and thinks back to their conversation last night (or, what he remembers of it).

He remembers sitting with some sleazy guy from up north who reeked of cologne and money, and who had bought him drink after drink (which, Harry wasn’t in any place to refuse). He remembers Louis showing up, hours after he had left, and he remembers how angry Louis had looked. 

What he doesn’t really remember is them getting home. He remembers the crisp night air making his nose tingle, he remembers seeing his flat building looming above them, and he remembers walking (or being pulled) up the stairs. 

He knew that something had changed, though. Louis is no longer entirely hostile towards him, and he had woken up feeling like he had something to prove today. 

Something had happened, and today things were just a little different. 

Harry is now holding the piece of paper with the names and address that his father had given him, and he rubs it contemplatively between his fingers as he glances out at the foggy street. The names are ones that are familiar to him, and this wedding is one that he was not necessarily surprised by. The groom lives in this same building, and the bride is someone Harry had come across multiple times on his various jobs for his father. They were from two families who haven’t been the most civil, one of which had been the cause of more than a few disputes over the years.

He doesn’t notice that Louis has left until a few moments after he’s done so, and Harry wanders into the lounge to find Louis seated in a chair next to the window. He’s holding a book that Harry recognises well in his hands, cracked open to a dog eared page. Louis isn’t reading it, but is instead looking out the glass, his eyebrows furrowed into a pensive frown. He looks up as Harry approaches, and Harry gestures to the chair across from him (Harry’s favourite chair). “May I?” he asks, and Louis shrugs. “It’s your house, mate.” Louis sniffs, straightening in his seat as Harry sits down, sighing contentedly as the worn out plush envelopes him. 

He lets his eyes drift to the window, falling upon the glistening water that is catching the rare sun rays. “I really missed this chair.” Harry says a few minutes later, breaking the silence that they had been sitting in, listening only to the muted noise from outside, and he hears Louis let out a soft, quiet chuckle. 

Harry hasn’t heard Louis laugh before. 

It’s nice, he decides, the two of them sitting like this. The wedding isn’t until the next evening, there are no plans Harry has except to get out to the shops, and he has a book he feels like finishing. 

They’re not friends yet, nor is Harry particularly sure Louis even likes him, but this is nice. 

Harry wakes up early the next morning to the sound of quiet voices outside his door, and his hand flies to the revolver he keeps under his pillow, his muscles instantly on guard. He sits up in the still dark room, and he slides out from under the duvet, keeping his gun to his side as he pads to the door. Pressing his ear against the wood he twists the nob, holding his breath as he pulls the door open. As he steps into the hallway, he glances towards Louis’ room, where the door is closed tight. Setting his teeth, he continues into the entryway, and the voices quiet. 

“H?” His name is called by a voice he recognises immediately, and he steps fully out of the hallway, now seeing three figures standing near the front door. One of them laughs, and flicks on the light, causing Harry to squint in the sudden flash of brightness. “Put your gun away, Harry, nobody’s come to rob you.” The same man who laughed is the one speaking now, and Harry scowls, tucking it into the waistband of his trousers (his same ones from the day before that he hadn’t bothered to change out of, frankly). “You break into a man’s house without waking him, talk in secret outside his bedroom, and expect him not to defend himself? That’s rich, Nick.” Harry pushes a hand through his hair, and Nicholas rolls his eyes. “Always one for dramatics. Nobody broke in, Louis very kindly let us in.” Nicholas responds, his lips quirking up into a teasing sneer, and Harry looks to where Louis is standing a little farther off to the side, staring at Harry with an odd expression. His posture is defensive and guarded, much like how it had been when Harry had first met him. He’s standing to the right of Zayn, who had been watching the situation with a tight lipped smirk until this point, and who is now sauntering towards Harry with a grin. 

“I know you’re excited to see us, but you couldn’t have put some clothes on? It’s cold out here.” Zayn wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders, and Harry glances down to his bare chest and arms. “Burglars don’t care what you’re wearing, Z. Why are you here?” He looks back up, and Zayn glances at Nicholas, who leans against the table with a soft sigh. 

“You’re assigned to the Cooney wedding tonight?” Nicholas asks, nodding his head in Louis’ direction, his eyes still on Harry, and Harry confirms with a hum. “We think there may be a bit of an occurrence, and we came up to offer our services.” Nicholas shrugs, and Zayn sighs. “We didn’t come up to offer anything but information, Nick. There wasn’t even supposed to be two of us until you decided you need to come along.” Zayn releases Harry and walks towards the kitchen, and Harry follows him with his eyes before looking back to Nicholas, who is chuckling. “Well of course I did, I needed to meet the infamous Louis for myself.” he responds, staring at Louis now, who is glaring right back, his jaw set as his eyebrows dip down. “Infamous?” Louis murmurs, and Nicholas nods slowly. 

“You’re practically a legend, my friend. I did a little asking about town. Did you really manage to knock out the Brighton sprees all on your own? That takes talent.” 

Harry had heard about the issues that had been happening in Brighton earlier this year. Robberies, assaults, and more had been the fault of a few rogue men who had split from the very sloggers they were trying to deal with now. They had been a big issue, with Wes trying to figure out the best way to sort it all, and Harry had even been in talks to make the trip and deal with it with his own men, until... they weren’t anymore. There had been no more talk, no more disturbances, and nobody had talked about it again. 

Harry stares at Louis, whose arms are crossed over his chest as he stands, and Harry hears a whistle come from the kitchen. “Damn, Louis. Remind me to not get on your bad side.” Zayn’s voice is muffled, and Harry can only assume he’s helped himself to the contents of the icebox.

“How did you do it?” Harry asks quietly, and Louis looks at him, eyes glinting. “With a few choice words and a particularly aimed bullet, Harry. How else?” Louis’ words are borderline sarcastic, and they earn a surprised laugh from Nicholas. 

Harry isn’t normally one to try and diffuse a situation, rather, he’d be egging it on to get a reaction, but he rather likes the understanding that he and Louis have come to. Purely for work’s sake, he decides to derail the conversation. 

“Does anyone want breakfast? Figure you may want to eat before heading back.” he pointedly directs his question to Nicholas, who gives him a quickly raised eyebrow in response. “Ever the little housewife, Harry. Whoever nabs you is a lucky person indeed.” Nicholas brushes past him into the kitchen, following Zayn, and Harry closes his eyes with a quick sigh. He opens them back up to Louis, watching him with a calculated expression. 

Harry shrugs, gesturing to the kitchen. “They’re… a lot to handle sometimes. I’m sorry.” Harry’s simple apology on behalf of the other men seems to settle Louis, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Not used to people prying into my life this early, I suppose.” Louis’ words don’t sound like he’s particularly upset, and Harry chuckles. “I’d better get in there before they raid the place. Wouldn’t be the first time.” he starts towards the kitchen, choosing not to wait for Louis to follow, and instead going straight to the icebox. 

He lets the quiet squabbling of Nicholas and Zayn float over his head, humming softly to himself as the sun begins to send bright red stripes across the sky. 

  
  


_“Harry, you’d better bring your wellies, it’s bound to rain tonight.”_

_Harry raises an eyebrow, but grabs the boots from where they’re laying on the mudroom floor. “How do you know?” he asks, and he hears a chuckle._

_“Look outside, at the sunrise.” Harry does. “Do you see how the sun is making the sky red? And do you see the clouds on the horizon?” Harry nods. “It’s an old sailor’s tale. Red in the morning, sailors take warning. Red at night, sailors’ delight. It would help them to know when a storm would be coming, and when they should keep themselves close to home and safe.”_

_Harry feels arms wrap around him, and he wiggles, giggling as lips press a kiss to his cheek._

_“Now you, my little prince, should be staying close to home and safe with me, but your father has other plans.”_

_Harry bites his lip, looking longingly back at his cozy bed and the fireplace. “He always does.”_

  
  
  


**L**

Louis is awkwardly standing against a wall, watching people dance and drink around him. This isn’t the first wedding he’s been to, but he’s never been the biggest fan. However, any opportunity for people to forget the absolute misery that is the world they live in they should take it, he supposes. 

His eyes are the only things that move as he looks around him, his hand comfortably resting on the handle of his gun tucked safely in his waistband. 

His gaze lands on Harry, who has a wide grin on his face as he stands next to a man that Louis thinks he’s met before over the years, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders as they drink. Louis grits his teeth and forces himself not to roll his eyes as he looks away. 

Harry had separated himself from Louis as soon as the ceremony was over, choosing to mingle with the crowd, loosening his tie, drinking and dancing and singing along to all the drinking songs. 

Louis wasn’t particularly happy with that, if he was being honest. They’re supposed to be here working a job, not getting drunk. There are plenty of people in attendance that Louis recognises, but there are a lot more that Louis isn’t sure about. The bride and groom know why Harry and Louis are there, and Louis intends to do his job.

At least he won’t be the one at fault if things go bad. 

He is startled by a sudden bump to his shoulder, and he turns to see Harry standing next to him, holding out two glass mugs full of foamy amber liquid. Louis purses his lips, and shakes his head. “No, thanks.” he says shortly, and Harry meowls, his grin somehow getting even wider as he speaks. “You’re not going to be like this tonight, are you?” 

Louis doesn’t respond. “Come on, mate. It’s a wedding!” Harry bumps Louis’ shoulder with the beer mug, and Louis exhales sharply, turning to look at Harry fully. “We’re here for a job, and we can’t do our jobs if we’re off our asses, now can we?” He takes a quick look at the beer, which, against his own words, looks pretty appetising, especially after the last few hours of keeping watch over everything. 

Harry scoffs, and looks over the crowd. There are tables of people who are staying away from other tables, but then there’s the groups of people scattered around the room, mingling and laughing together as they drink beer and wine. “If someone starts something here, it’ll be easy enough to take them out and deal with them. Loosen up a little, have a drink or two.” He looks down at Louis, and holds the glass mug out once again. Louis frowns, but after a moment takes it from Harry with a sigh. Harry, with a triumphant grin, leans against the wall next to Louis as he downs the rest of the beer in his own glass. 

Louis can smell the light smell of sweat mixing with Harry’s (no doubt) expensive cologne and the heady scent of beer, and he smiles to himself as he takes a small sip. They stand quietly next to each other, Harry humming along to one of the jigs being played in the far corner. 

“They’re good people.” Harry says after a moment or two, and Louis looks at him over his mug. “They’re really good people.” He says again, his voice soft and somber, and Louis lowers his glass to turn towards Harry a little more. “I’m sure they are.” Louis keeps his voice low as well, and Harry shakes his head, staring down at his feet. 

“We shouldn’t have to be here. Making sure nobody kills each other at a wedding? Why the fuck should someone have to worry about that?” Harry’s words are harsh, bitter, and Louis nods in agreement. 

“They’re good people, and they don’t deserve this. They shouldn’t have to be involved in all this.” Harry’s tone drops again, and Louis hums. “Not that easy to get out once you’re here, mate. You know that.” Louis takes another look out around the room, keeping special note of a few tables that have been acting strangely, and Harry sighs. “Yeah. I know. I just-”

His words are cut off by the sharp crack of a gunshot, and Louis’ eyes whip towards where the sound came from as screams and shouting begins to fill the room. He can sense Harry taking off to the other side of the room, but he doesn’t follow him as he heads towards the tables that he had spotted earlier, all of the occupants now standing, their voices raising. 

Louis spots two men standing in each other’s faces, one man gripping the other’s suit jacket tightly as he moves to throw him to the ground, and he quickens his pace as another gunshot rings across the room. 

Things seem to move in slow motion then, as they often do when the adrenaline starts pumping and the natural instincts take over. Louis tries to locate the direction from where the other shot came from, but there are suddenly more people drawing guns and sending fists flying across empty space. He doesn’t know what to make heads or tails of, and starts shoving and yelling for people to sit down, to put their guns away. He hears glass shattering and people’s voices, and he pulls and tugs at the fighting men around him, throwing them into chairs and at walls. He feels a sudden, searing burn on his arm, but brushes it off as things slowly begin to settle as he can see people leaving the room. 

“Sit down. _Sit_ down.” he grits through his teeth as he grapples with a younger man, shoving him hard down into a wooden chair, and turns to face the remaining people, most of them glaring at each other, their arms at the ready. Louis straightens to his full height, and sighs, shaking his head. “What happened here, gentlemen? Couldn’t hold off for a wedding?” He forces his voice to be as authoritative as possible, and one of the men sneers.

“You’re not from around here.” The man’s thick accent is full of scorn, and Louis raises an eyebrow as he lets his hand rest casually on his gun. “You get that from me asking why you’re ruining a wedding? Sounds pretty daft to me, mate.” Louis looks the man up and down as he takes a small, purposeful step forward. They stare at each other for a few tense seconds, until the man looks away with a scoff. 

“Louis,” he hears someone call, and he looks up to see Harry approaching, hair a tousled mess, and a deep bruise blossoming on the corner of his mouth.

Some of the men look up as well, and a quiet cheer of greeting goes around as Harry walks up to the small group. Clapping a hand to one of the men’s shoulders, he doesn’t smile as he nods to Louis, who tips his head quickly back. 

“For fuck’s sake, Charlie. At Beth’s wedding? What’s wrong with you?” Harry’s voice is low and angry, and the man whose shoulder is being tightly gripped by Harry looks down, shamed. “All she wanted was a wedding without any problems. And look what you gave her. Plenty of problems. Now, that doesn’t seem like a very friendly thing for someone’s cousin to do, does it?” Harry directs the question to the same man, but looks around at the entire gathering, his forehead deeply creased by a frown. 

Louis hasn’t seen this side of Harry. He’s angry, rightfully so, but he’s calm, authoritative, not a trace of cockiness or spite. He’s well in control of the situation, and the men seem to be listening to him. 

It’s different. It’s good. 

Harry is escorting some of the men out now, and a few come from around the room to shake Louis’ hand in introduction, all making sure to keep their distances from each other. He learns that most of these men are from the same family, whether it be siblings or cousins or marriage, and that they were none too happy about having to give up their baby cousin. He learns that the Twists have been a permanent fixture in this neighbourhood for years, and until Harry moved in, none were too good at keeping the peace. “The Twists are more of the instigating type. Harry’s a good lad, but he’s cunning as a fox. You’d do best to watch your back.” An older man’s warning to Louis comes as a bit of a surprise, but he thanks him and continues on his way. 

As he exits the building, he sees Harry standing off to the side, his face dully illuminated by the warm orange glow of a cigarette. “Didn’t know you smoked.” Louis steps up next to Harry, and as Harry startles, his shoulders tense defensively for a brief moment before recognising the voice. Harry smirks, and shakes his head as he exhales, watching the wispy cloud soar off into the night. “I usually don’t. Only takes a special occasion.” He holds out the cigarette to Louis, who takes it with a nod of his head. They quietly stand together, the sounds of London going to sleep around them,voices still spilling out from the building behind them. 

“Where’d you get the bruise?” Louis takes a soft drag from the burning cigarette after asking, and Harry laughs, looking down at his shoes as he scuffs his heel against the ground. “I, ah. I decided to catch an elbow with my face. How’s it looking?” Harry grins sheepishly at Louis, and Louis shrugs, hanging the cigarette back. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose any teeth.” Louis looks back out at the street, watching as a man leading a cart crosses to the other side, whistling a low tune. Harry quiets, and Louis can hear the soft crackle of the cigarette as Harry inhales. Harry sighs as he exhales, and Louis can sense Harry turn to face him. He shifts his head to look in Harry’s direction, and raises an eyebrow.

He can tell that Harry wants to say something, but is quickly thinking better of it as he takes another pull from the cigarette that is quickly losing its length. “Come on, Styles. Speak your mind, I won’t bite.” Louis shifts on his feet as he casually crosses his arms across his chest, and Harry chuckles. 

“Just wanted to thank you for listening to them. The men in there.” Harry jerks his head towards the building they came from, and Louis takes a quick glance back. The lights are slowly dimming, and the street is growing darker and quieter as the voices disappear. “I don’t know what they told you about me, and frankly, I’m alright with not knowing. I’ve done my best to do right by them, but sometimes you have to make hard choices to come out on top. I’m sure you know that.” Harry’s tone is now levelled by a seriousness that Louis isn’t used to, and he looks back at Harry. Harry is watching him, his face perfectly still and sombre, his eyes not wavering from Louis’. 

Louis nods, and Harry continues. “They only know what I let them know, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. I’ve managed to make myself known as a friend of every group running around this city, and I’m doing a damn good job of being that person.’ I’d like to know that you wouldn’t do anything to change that.” 

Harry has drawn himself to his full height now, with his shoulders rolled back and jaw set firmly. He isn’t standing defensively, but he’s standing with determination. The man’s words from earlier blink in Louis’ head, but he shrugs them away. “Got no reason to, mate. Far as you’re concerned, I’m only a hired gun.” Louis turns away, still feeling Harry’s eyes on him as he looks up at the night sky. 

  
  


_Louis opens his eyes, the grin growing on his face as he hears childish giggles coming from somewhere in the room. “Ready or not, here I come.” he sing-songs, and he hears quiet shuffling. Creeping around the sofa, he can see a tuft of bright blonde hair curled up in a ball, and he tries to walk even quieter._

_Reaching out to grab the child’s ankle, he laughs as she screeches, giggling maniacally as he tugs her towards him, wrapping his arms around you. “Louis, not fair! You found me first last time.” The tiny girl pouts, and Louis brushes some dust bunnies out of her hair as he smiles down at her. “Gotta hide better, Lotts. Now, let’s go find Niall. He’s gotta be around here somewhere.”_

_Pulling her up, he swings their hands between them as they walk, listening for any sounds that would give him away. They mount the stairs, and Louis hears a sneeze come from one of the rooms, followed by a soft curse. Louis grins, and the little girl runs ahead of him with an excited giggle. Pushing open the door, she enters, and Louis follows her, looking around for any sign of Niall. “Oh, Nialler. Come out, come out, wherever ye are.” Louis is saying under his breath when suddenly he hears a playful roar, and a squeal from the other side of the room. He turns to see Niall tumbling out of the wardrobe, the little blonde girl standing to the side, laughing and pointing._

_Niall grins a gap-toothed grin up at him, and points to his mouth. “Knocked out a tooth, Lou! It’s my second one this month!” Niall pushes his tousled hair back on his head, and Louis rolls his eyes. “Did you do that just to beat me? I’m still ahead of you by three.” Louis says haughtily, and Niall looks appalled as he cradles his lost tooth in his hand. “Do you hear this, Miss Lottie? Your brother is being very rude to me.” Niall pats the girl’s head as he scrambles to his feet, and Lottie giggles again as she follows Niall out of the room._

_Louis watches them leave with a smile, and shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks out a few moments later. He is halfway down the stairs when he sees the person standing with their housekeeper in the entryway, holding out an envelope as she begins to cry._

_Louis stands and stares at the man, who is now walking towards him sombrely, taking off his cap as he approaches. “Louis?” the man asks, bending over to Louis’ height, and Louis nods, glancing around for Lottie and Niall. “I work with your father. Is your mother home?”_

_Louis looks at him, and clenches his jaw._

_“My mum’s gone.” he says simply._

_The man looks taken aback for a moment, and looks back to the housekeeper, who nods at him, wiping the tears from her eyes. Louis looks from her to the man in front of him again._

_“Where’s my father?” he asks._

_The man clears his throat. “There’s been… an accident, Louis. A pretty bad one.”!_

_Everything seems to move a little slower after that. Louis slowly finds his sister, he slowly walks her to the front door, Niall slowly follows them, they slowly get into the car and they drive slowly down the road._

_Things moved slowly for a long time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey pals! it’s been a crazy two months for me. i’ve been drowned in coursework and regular work and election stress. but part ii is here now. i hope you’re ready for what’s to come. thanks for sticking with me always. 
> 
> \- a


	3. iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention/scene of death

**H**

_Tiny broken parts of me_

_Blistered, broken glass underneath my feet_

_And how was I supposed to know?_

_No man should reach for something he can't let go._

_“Greyhound” - Ashton Irwin_

Harry folds his arms behind his head with a sigh as the rain sends little patterns down the glass of his window. He closes his eyes as he lies on his bed, the grey skies casting little light into the room. 

Beth has been married for almost two weeks now, and since then, nothing extremely out of the ordinary has happened that has needed his dire attention. He had busied himself with making sure his affairs were in order across the city, and it had been a fairly nonstop ordeal.

But today is Sunday, and Sunday is a day of rest. “Nobody will be doing any killing on Sundays, Harry. Take a break.” Zayn had told him over the phone once a few months ago. Harry had had to worry about a rigged horse race gone wrong, and he was almost at his wits end (not like he’d ever admit that). He had almost given up when the situation seemingly resolved itself, and he had taken that as a sign. 

Now, Sundays are his days. He’ll brew a hot cup of tea, he’ll finish his book, and there will be calm. 

He hears a soft knock on his door, and he hums in acknowledgement, keeping his eyes closed as the door clicks open. Louis clears his throat, and Harry cracks one eye open to look at him. He is standing in Harry’s doorway, fully dressed at this early hour, and Harry raises an eyebrow. “Going somewhere?” he asks, and Louis pushes the door open a little wider. “Yeah. Got some business in town, figured I’d get it over with sooner than later.” Louis’ voice is tersely casual, and Harry sits up, leaning onto his elbow. He’s not the world’s best judge of character (which has been made obvious over the years), but he has a suspicion that Louis isn’t giving him all the details. “Alright. Need a hand?” Harry asks, and Louis shakes his head brusquely. “No, it’s nothing big. I’ll be back by noon.” He begins closing the door as he speaks, and Harry watches him leave with his eyebrows furrowing. He hears the footsteps make their way down the hall, and then hears the front door open and shut.

Harry looks back out the window to where the rain had begun to pick up, blowing heavier against the window as the dark sky grows cloudier. He chews on the inner corner of his mouth as he watches the water droplets creating mazes on the window. He’s not worried about Louis, or concerned about him. He is, however, concerned about what business he’d have in a city that is all but entirely foreign to him. _He just needs to get out_ , Harry tells himself as he swings his legs over the bed. Wrapping his arms behind him, his face contorts as his muscles stretch, and he stands in front of the mirror that rests on the floor. 

He looks at himself, letting his arms fall to his sides. He’s only wearing his trousers from the day before, exposing his pale chest and arms. He cocks his head to the side, and shifts his body weight on his feet. He sees the muscles in his arms tense, and the tattoo on his bicep pulls taut. His eyes fall on the small conglomerate of tattoos that litter his upper body, and a smile tickles his lips for a brief moment. He stares at his chest as he places his fingers gently on the butterfly inked deeply on his middle. He traces one of the lines, and feels his raised skin under his fingertips. He presses his fingers harder against the tattoo, and sighs as he looks back up at his face. 

His hair is falling weirdly onto his forehead, and he flips it up with a quick twist of his fingers. He also hasn’t shaved in a few days, and it’s not his favourite look in the world. His father rather prefers him to be clean shaven, and for a few years, Harry would purposely go days without shaving, just to get a rise out of him. But now, Harry keeps a clean face (for nobody but himself, he’s convinced himself). 

_Louis wears a bit of a scruffle most times_ , Harry muses for a second.

He blinks at his own random through, and scoffs, rolling his eyes as he steps away from the mirror. Grabbing the shirt that is hanging over the chair sitting next to the bedroom door, he forgoes the buttons as he slips it on over his arms. 

It’s a little chillier in the flat today as he walks through the hallway and into the kitchen, and he mentally reminds himself to make a fire in the fireplace as he goes through the motions of making his tea. 

Harry hums to himself as his toes begin to get cold, and he slides his feet into a pair of fuzzy house slippers that he had ‘borrowed’ from Marcus’ wife a few years ago. 

(“Borrowing without asking is stealing, Harry. If you’d wanted a pair, all you’d have to do is ask”, she had scolded him when she had found out, and he had kissed her cheek with a grin. “But they’re so much warmer when they’re stolen,” he’d responded, earning him a laugh and another roll on his dinner plate.) 

Blowing on his tea, he snags a blanket from the armchair closest to him, and sets his mug down on the table in front of his favourite chair. He tosses a few logs in the fireplace, and strikes a quick match. Watching the flames lick up the split wood, he smiles to himself as the warmth begins to seep into the room around him. He tucks himself into his armchair, picking up the dog-eared book that he had left before propping his feet up on the table. He takes a sip of his tea as he looks out the window, the city living on below him. He can see the street below him, and watches the few passersby braving the weather in their coats and boots. 

Harry crosses his ankles and tucks the blanket tighter around him as the wind whistles outside. He feels calm today, and he intends to take full advantage of it. 

So, he sits in his armchair, and he drinks his tea, and he reads his book. 

_Harry sinks to the wet ground, clutching his arms close to his chest as he leans against one of the lone trees in the area of his battalion. He closes his eyes and inhales the hot steam rising from the tin mug he holds in his shivering hands. Opening his eyes, he looks down at his wet, mud stained khaki uniform. He purses his lips as he glances at the watery brown liquid in his mug, and he hears a chuckle from above him._

_“What’s the matter, lad? Not a coffee fan?” The man’s voice is hoarse and muffled, his mouth full with bread, and Harry smirks, shaking his head. “I prefer a good cuppa myself, but I don’t even think this counts as coffee, mate.”_

_The man chuckles again, pulling his helmet off of his head as he sits in the mud next to Harry. “Been out here almost two years, it never gets better. You’d think the Queen would be able to spare some extra beans for her poor soldiers out here in the shitfields of nowhere.” The man’s thick northern accent is oddly comforting to Harry, and he nods, taking a sip of his coffee-water._

_Harry turns to look at the man sitting next to him. The man is older, lines on his mud stained face well worn. He is looking out over the hundred or so other men across the desolate, abandoned wheat field, and Harry can see day old bruising on his face and neck._

_He chooses not to ask about it, instead looking in the same direction as the man._

_The other soldiers are scattered across the field, most staying in close proximity to each other, taking turns sleeping or making coffee or keeping watch. Harry doesn’t feel like he’s slept properly in months, though he’s gotten pretty good at falling asleep at a moments’ notice on whatever ground he happens upon._

_He is about to ask the man still sitting next to him where he had last been, when the sound of low, loud throbbing comes from the air. His eyes whip up, and the mug drops from his hands as he sees the two large planes steadily approaching as the alarm begins to blare._

_He feels frozen as he sees a blast of whitish red light, and feels the earth rumble beneath him as a cloud of dirt lifts into the air. He registers a hand pulling at his arm, yanking him to his feet._

_Run, move, get away, get to cover, run, run, run, run._

_All Harry does is run._

  
  
  


**L**

_Quiet as that secret you keep_

_Still in your heart as you sleep_

_Old as the lay of the land_

_Cold as all matters at hand_

_Long as the river of song_

_Mad as the world it moves on._

_“Low Lays The Devil” - The Veils_

Louis groans under his breath as he feels a skull connect with his cheekbone, and he straightens, rubbing his face with a scowl. “Now, look what you’ve done. That’s going to leave a mark.” He quips darkly, glaring at the man seated and restrained in the chair in front of him. The man spits, and Louis raises an eyebrow disdainfully. “Get the fuck out of my shop, you prick. Got nothing here for you or your damn vultures.” The man’s teeth are bared, stained red as he snarls up at Louis. 

Louis stares at him, lips set tightly as he breathes sharply in and out. He leans back in, gripping the man’s face between his fingers, tightly pressing until the man winces in pain. 

“Do you think I’m an idiot, Blake? Do you think I don’t know about the pretty little ladies you have setting up shop in your back room?” Louis hisses, and he feels triumphant as a light dies in the man’s eyes. Louis smirks, and releases the man after squeezing tightly once more. “I don’t have to remind you that this is still Simon’s part of the city. You’re working on his ground. All I have to do is,” Louis trails off, snapping one of his fingers, and the man winces. 

Louis rubs his cheekbone once more, and leans against one of the benches set up in the cordwainer’s shop. He looks around, and picks up a boot that is resting on the bench, leather still unstitched and unpolished. “May need you to make up a pair for me, Blake. My old ones are getting a little tatty. You wouldn’t mind, would you?” Louis turns with a placid smile back to the man in the chair, who shakes his head. Louis clicks his tongue, and nods agreeably. “Brilliant. I’ll stop by and check up on them in about a weeks’ time? You can make that work, I’m sure.” Louis takes a step closer to the man, who dips his head. “I’ll do my best.” The man’s voice is quieter now, and Louis hums. 

“Ah, well. Our best is all we can ever do.” He turns away, glancing through the window at the rain that is still pouring outside. He sighs, thinking about walking back across the city in that rain, and Blake clears his throat. “I’ve got a wet jacket in the other room. I can grab it for you if you like.” Louis raises an eyebrow at the man’s offer, and turns back to him. “First you try to kill me, now you’re giving me a coat? It’s my Sunday dream come true. What are you going to do next, offer to rub my feet?” Louis snipes, and the man looks away with a scoff. “Just being hospitable.” he mutters, and Louis rolls his eyes with a scornful chuckle. 

“Random acts of kindness won’t save your life when Simon hears about your little side business, Master Blake. But, you know how this works. You shut it down before I pick up my boots, and you’re fine to go about your life making your shoes for the fine ladies and gentlemen of this fair city. If you don’t, well. We won’t think about that, will we?” Louis fingers the handle of his gun as he stares at Blake, who won’t meet his gaze as shakes his head. 

Louis suddenly feels as if all his prior adrenaline, every ounce of energy has just been sucked from him. Without another word, he bends to sever the ties that bind the shoemaker’s wrists to the chair, and he watches silently as the man unties his own ankles. The man slowly stands, finally making eye contact with Louis as he straightens. Louis matches his gaze, unwavering. “I’ll be back in a week. I don’t suggest you make me wait.” Louis’ words are short and to the point as he turns on his heel, tugging open the shop’s door before the man has a chance to respond. 

Louis tugs his cap over his hair as he starts down the street, keeping his shoulders straight and his head held high, knowing the shopkeeper would be watching him as he left. However, once he turns the corner, he collapses in on himself and wraps his coat tighter around him, bitterly wishing he had taken the rain jacket when he was offered it as the winter wind sent droplets down his neck. He dodges a wagon, sending puddles across brick pavement. Cursing under his breath as his trousers get splashed with the cold, muddy water, he tugs his cap tighter on his head as he trudges back in the direction of Harry’s flat. He gives up and hooks a ride on a wagon a few streets later, clinging to the side as he rests his feet on the step shelf, watching the London city go by. 

Louis leans his head against the wet wood, and his eyes flutter shut for a few brief moments. He really hates doing these trivial little jobs for Simon sometimes. He had been made aware of the low level whorehouse that the shoemaker had been running out of his shop, and his first response was to send Louis to handle it (even though there are any number of capable men who could put a simple cordwainer in his place). He doesn’t understand Simon’s obsession with making sure that there is no possible stray cog in his machine. It’s not like Simon isn’t making money off of the multiple whorehouses of his own, Louis thinks with a snort. It’s all about money, power, and control. 

_No two men can share the same ground_ , he hears in his mind. 

He hops off to walk the rest of the way as the flat building comes into sight, and thunder rumbles in the sky as he goes, sending the rain harder and heavier down upon him. He’s the only one in the street as he picks up his pace, pushing through the gate in front of the flat building. Louis pulls his hat off of his head as he enters the building, sighing heavily as he sees the multitude of stairs leading up. 

Pulling himself up with the help of the hand railing, he breathes a surprising sigh of relief when he sees Harry’s flat door as he ascends to the correct floor. He can smell Sunday roasts cooking all around him, and his stomach growls from underneath his wet layers of clothing. Fumbling with the doorknob, he pushes the door open and is met with warm air and the smell of roast. Louis sighs again, and takes a step into the room as the door closes behind him. 

The record player in the sitting room is playing a quiet tune, and Louis glances into the room. He sees Harry, sitting in the armchair he had often frequented in the last few weeks, a blanket strewn over his long legs that are propped haphazardly on the small table in front of him. His chin is tucked into his chest as he reads a book, his free arm holding a cup of tea. Harry’s dressed in the same thing as he was last night, the same trousers resting a little too high above his ankles, and the same white and blue striped shirt that is now hanging open, exposing a large tattoo on Harry’s chest that Louis has yet to have seen. 

Harry looks up at Louis then, blinking as his eyes adjust, and Louis nods to him, pulling off his soaked coat to hang on the rack. He sees Harry’s eyes widen for a moment when they land on his face, and Harry sits up in his chair. “Your meeting go well?” Harry calls from the other room, and Louis hums, tucking his gun away. “Fair. A bit boring, though.” Louis slides his shoes off as he responds, choosing to walk around in his slightly less wet stockinged feet, and he hears a quiet chuckle from the other room. 

Louis begins to walk down the hallway when Harry speaks to him again. “There’s, um. There’s a roast in the oven, if you want it. It should be done soon, I wasn’t sure when you’d be back.” Louis turns back around to face Harry, who is now sitting up in his seat, feet flat on the floor as he gazes seriously at Louis. 

Now, see. Here’s the thing about Harry. 

Louis doesn’t know what to make of him sometimes. Sometimes, like today, right now, he forgets that Harry is supposed to be his business partner, and that he isn’t even supposed to _like_ Harry, let alone share a Sunday roast with him. Sometimes he wants to sit with Harry and have a lengthy discussion about that ridiculous collection of books he has, or anything other than ‘business’. He wants to know what goes on inside this kid’s brain, because there _has_ to be more to him than what Louis’ seen or been told. 

But other times, Louis is so reminded of Wes that it makes his teeth set on edge. From Harry’s little mannerisms, to the phone calls he takes late at night, to the way everyone on the street knows him and respects him and treats him like some sort of living god. Louis knows the other side of him. Louis knows that Harry is trying to prove himself, and that he’s a pedantic for no reason other than to get a rise out of people, and frankly, it makes Louis homicidal. 

So Louis could go about this two very different ways. 

He could say thanks, and join Harry for a nice Sunday roast, and they could play at being friends before going their own separate ways during the week. 

Or, he could nod, and make some noncommittal remark, and hole himself up in his bedroom for the rest of the night, effectively keeping the personal contact between them to a minimum. 

“I think I’m just going to kip down for the night, actually.” Louis runs a hand through his hair as he speaks, and Harry blinks for a moment, but nods as he turns back to his book. Louis feels a second of something that feels a bit like guilt, but turns around and heads into the bathroom. 

Standing in front of the small glass mirror hanging above the sink, Louis stares at himself. His eyes are red, his right one swollen and growing darker by the minute. His hair is shaggy and matted, and as he splashes water on his face he feels the cuts on his knuckles burn and sting. He doesn’t change into pyjamas when he gets into bed, choosing to strip to his underclothes and bury himself under the blanket, tightly closing his eyes against the soft sounds from the other side of the door. 

He doesn’t wake again until the smell of coffee and breakfast come from the kitchen, and the quiet radio static begins. 

_“Have you heard from Lottie lately?” Louis bites a little harder down on the bread in his hand as he glances at Niall, who is leaning against a tree, helmet resting on the ground beside him as he awaits an answer to his question. “Nope. Not a thing. You hear from Amelia?” Louis asks, and a bashful grin grows on Niall’s face. “Yeah. She told me about this dress she made the other week. Bright blue, she says. Fit for the queen herself.” Niall sounds chuffed as he pulls a letter out of his breast pocket, and Louis rubs his nose with a dirty hand as he listens to Niall chatter._

_The wind is warm today, on the French countryside. They’re in a pretty little place, with trees and a little river. Their commanding officers had an air of ease around them, which made the men settle. Most of them had received letters a few days ago, and are still basking in the glow of the words from their loved ones. Some, like Louis, haven’t had a single letter since the day they were enlisted._

_Louis doesn’t really mind, though. Fewer people to cry for him when he dies is what he’s banking on._

_“I could settle down in France. Amelia always said she liked French people. Wonder what she’d think.” Louis focusses back on Niall’s words, and snorts softly. “Good luck getting her to leave the city.” Louis pushes himself forward and to his feet, brushing off his khaki trousers as Niall sighs dramatically. “Doomed to live my life in the fair streets of England forever. It’s what I get for marrying an Englishwoman.” Louis rolls his eyes, and smirks down at Niall. “You’re not married yet.” He quips, and Niall laughs up at him. “I’m planning on making it out of this war in one piece, Tommo. I’ve got the future to think of.” He winks as he speaks, and Louis chuckles softly. He claps a quick hand to Niall’s shoulder before walking towards the little stream, hands shoved deep into his pockets._

_Louis stares at the rippling water that is flowing cheerily over the rocks and through the grass, and he sits down cross-legged on the grass. Outstretching a hand, he touches the stream, the cold water splitting around his fingers._

_“Makes you want to just jump in, doesn’t it?” Louis startles at the voice from above him, and he squints up into the sunlight at the figure approaching him. He gives the approaching man a brief nod, and looks back at the river. “I’d rather not pollute any streams today, actually.” Louis shrugs, and the man sits next to him with a grunt. Louis looks at him, and gives him a small smile. “You lot finally joining us from the old battalion?” he asks, and the man wiggles his eyebrows, humming in confirmation as he lays on his back, resting his head on his arms. “Seems like it. Why, did you miss me?” The man’s tone is teasing as he answers, and Louis scoffs lightly, hiding his smile as he looks back to the river._

_Louis feels a finger hook into his belt, and he glances down to where the man is now fiddling with the canvas pocket hooked onto the leather. “What are you doing?” Louis’ voice is hushed, and the man shrugs, looking up to meet Louis’ gaze. “I missed you.” He says simply, and Louis stares down at him. He reaches one hand down, slowly, and doesn’t break eye contact as their fingers touch, and then join together._

_“I missed you, and I’m glad you’re still alive, Tomlinson.”_

Louis stifles a yawn as he and Harry walk down the street, rubbing his itchy eyes. He hears Harry chuckle, but chooses to ignore him as they carry on, dodging carts and peddlers on their way to market. It’s early, the sun still sitting behind the horizon, but they are already on their way back up north to check in with Simon and Wes. They stop at a house a few minutes later, and Harry knocks quickly at the door. A moment or two passes, and then a pair of keys fall through the letter slot on the door. Harry sighs, bending to pick them up, and Louis glances around. “What’s all this about?” he asks as they walk around the side of the building, and Harry shrugs. “Extra precautions, I suppose. Wes is very particular about his cars.” he seems a little peeved as he speaks, and Louis fidgets with the loose strings in his coat pocket as they approach a small shed building. 

Harry gets there first, and as he tugs the wooden door up, he reveals the car they arrived in inside. Once the car is started and they’re both seated, the shed door shut behind them, Harry steers the car into the street. Louis settles into his seat, and leans his head against the cold glass window. He isn’t often in the passenger side of a car, and he rather likes it. He feels his eyes growing heavier, the motion of the car rocking him comfortingly. Before he knows it, he’s drifting off, not to wake up until Harry is pulling to a stop. 

He feels a nudge on his arm, and he jolts awake, blinking rapidly as he looks around him. His eyes land on Harry, who is watching him with the barest hint of a smile. “We’re back. You slept the whole way.” Harry reaches into the backseat, pulling out a canvas bag, and Louis rubs his face, his stubble scratching quietly at his palms. “The whole way.” Louis repeats, and Harry hums as he pushes his door open, a brick building Louis recognises looming behind him. Louis stays put, watching Harry begin to walk towards the front steps of the Voight Hotel, but he stops, turning back to the car. “You coming?” Harry calls to Louis, and Louis blinks, nodding as he pushes his own door open after a brief pause. 

Catching up to Harry, they both pull their caps on over their heads as they enter through the doors. 

The decadence of the hotel surprises (and disgusts) Louis, as it always does, for he somehow manages to forget just how extravagantly Simon chooses to live his life. Their boots click on the floor, the only sound in the quiet building. 

It’s eerily quiet, Louis thinks to himself. Uncomfortably quiet.

He says as such to Harry, who nods, his hand already resting on the handle of his gun that’s securely attached to his waist. They continue down the hall, stopping at the room where they first met all those not-so-long weeks ago. Louis’ lip inches up for a moment as he remembers the distaste that had stained his mind, but it quickly falls again as he hears a familiar voice from the other side of the door. Simon is speaking lowly, but sternly, and Louis stills as he hears his name spoken. Harry glances down at him as another voice pipes up, and he raps quickly on the wooden door. Louis watches Harry’s hand as he does so, the rings twisted around his knuckles sending the little bits of light coming in through the wall length windows sparkling. The voices quiet down, and Louis hears Simon say “Enter,” and he gestures for Harry to open the door. 

As the door opens, Louis’ eyes fall on Simon, seated at the head of the table, cigar smoke floating around his head as Liam stands closely next to him. “Ah, Louis. We were just talking about you.” Simon leans back in his chair, and nods at Harry courteously, who nods back, just as impersonal. Liam keeps his head down as he busies himself with clearing up some papers from the wooden table, but at a motion from Simon he quickly stops. Louis blinks as he finally takes in Liam’s face when he straightens up, and he looks in surprise at the dark bruises swelling around Liam’s eyes and cheekbones, and the crudely stitched cut spanning the length of his chin. “Jesus, Payne, what happened to you?” Harry breathes from next to Louis, and Louis isn’t surprised that Harry noticed. Liam’s eyes dart to Simon, then back at the two of them as he shrugs, keeping his demeanour nonchalant as he gives a painful-looking smirk. “Had a bit of a run-in that didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. Some friends of yours, actually.” Liam pops his chin in Harry’s direction, and Louis raises an eyebrow as he looks to Simon, who is sitting silently, watching them. “You were in London?” Louis directs his question to Liam, but keeps his eyes on Simon. It’s not so much a question of clarification as a question of inquiry, and Simon takes a deep inhale as he meets Louis’ glare. “Only some bits and bobs to take care of, Louis. Some things just needed a touch more... tact than what you have to work with.” Simon’s words seem to slither across his tongue, and the thinly veiled insult doesn’t go unnoticed by Louis. 

He can sense Harry begin to bristle next to him, but before Harry can say a word, a loud knock bangs at the door behind them. When it swings open, Wesley Twist is walking in, followed closely by a few men that Louis doesn’t know. Harry stiffens, but Wesley barely glances at his son as he walks further into the room. Harry nods to the other men who are following Wes, and they stop on the opposite side of Harry that Louis is standing on. “Danny. Max. How’re the girls?” Louis hears Harry ask softly, and he can see one of the men light up. “Real good. Maisie’s walking now, and Emily is starting at school this fall. Primary.” The man says proudly, and Harry chuckles. “Give them my love, then,” Harry murmurs absently, his voice betraying that his attentions are - unsurprisingly - taken elsewhere. 

Simon and Wesley are conversing in close proximity to each other, with Liam standing off to the side, listening in with a grim expression that Louis knows well. Their voices are barely above murmurs, but Louis listens as closely as he can. “Do you have _any_ idea what kind of spot you’ve put me in? I’ve got to explain to one of the best families we’ve got on our side of the Themes why their father had his teeth kicked in by one of _your_ men, a man who _you_ assigned to sit in London. I’m up a bloody creek here, Simon.” Wesley is hissing, and Simon looks unaffected, almost to the point of boredom. Louis grits his teeth as he feels Harry’s eyes suddenly on him, but he keeps his focus on Simon. “I think you forget, Wesley, that I have a large stock of territory in that area. And when a threat comes into play, the only logical thing to do is to eliminate that threat. It’s simple, really. It’s a game of cards, and we must always have the stronger hand.” Simon smiles, leaning back in his chair as cigar smoke floats around him, and Wesley scoffs, pushing himself away from the table with a slam of his hands. “You’re going to regret this, Simon. You may be only playing cards, but you’ve turned it into a dangerous game.” Wesley gestures to the men to follow him, but Louis’ eyes stay on Simon as Harry turns to watch them leave, following them only after a moment of hesitation. 

Simon’s smile gets thinner after Harry leaves, and he finally seems to be paying real attention to the now-ending conversation. “It’s been dangerous, my friend. You have just been playing it safe.” Simon calls after Wesley as the door opens and shuts again with a dull thud. Louis shakes his head slowly, and lets out a quiet scoff. “You told me the shoemaker was a problem. You never said anything about him being kin with the Twist’s.” Louis takes a small step forward as he addresses Simon, and Simon finally looks at him fully, his eyes beady and dark. “He was a problem. He was a problem that you hopefully resolved without issue?” Simon takes another drag of his cigar, and Louis shrugs.

“Depends on what you consider an issue,” he takes another step forward as he speaks, this time leaning on one of the high-backed chairs surrounding the table, “because I happen to consider breaking the trust of the people we’re supposed to be getting on our side a bit of an issue.” Louis is trying to keep the disdain from dripping into his words, and he can tell that Simon notices, for he is suddenly staring directly at Louis, face rigidly set into a hard glare. “I hope you haven’t forgotten where your colours come from? Or are you getting swept up into whatever spell Wesley’s son seems to cast?” Simon’s elbows dig sharply into the wooden table as he leans forward, practically snarling, daring Louis to combat him, and Louis feels his lip twitch as he holds his own words back. 

“No sir,” Louis mutters, “I’ve not forgotten.” He tips his head as he touches the brim of his cap, and turns on his heels to exit the room, not sparing another word to Simon (or Liam, who is still standing silently). 

He can feel a familiar ache begin to build in his chest, and as he pushes the heavy wooden door open, he hears footsteps from behind him. He ignores them until he is further in the hallway, shoving his hands deeply in his pockets as the sound of his loud, angry footfalls echo on the floor. “Louis, hold on,” Liam begs from behind him, and Louis lets out a heavy scoff as he turns around, cheeks growing warm as he looks at Liam through furrowed brows. 

“What the _fuck_ was that? You call me in the middle of the night to tell me that Simon has a little side job for me to finish up, and then send me to rough up a family man of the Twists? For god’s sake, Liam, I’m _living_ with a Twist, you don’t think that’s a bit of a bad case for me to be making right about now?” Louis’ voice is raising in volume the angrier he gets, and Liam glances around the empty hallway. “Louis, please. Can you come with me?” Liam’s voice is calm, but his face is betraying him as creases begin to build in his forehead. Louis blinks for a moment, his anger still beginning to fester, but nods, following Liam down the hall. “I’m still upset. Really upset.” Louis snaps at him as they walk, and Liam chuckles. “Noted,” he responds, not saying another word they continue on. Louis shuffles his feet a little as they walk, Liam’s pace a little faster than what Louis usually finds comfortable. They walk down hallways, and down a flight of stairs that Louis has never been down before, and after another few steps, they reach a door. 

Twisting the handle, Liam motions for Louis to step inside as the door opens, and when he does - to his great surprise - he sees Niall, Ed, and Zayn, Harry’s friend, sitting around a small table. Niall shoots to his feet with a grin, and quickly makes his way to Louis, stumbling slightly in his rush. Louis grins widely, wrapping his arms around his friend, and Niall squeezes him tightly. “Jesus, Louis, not even a phone call in weeks. Thought you forgot about your best mate.” Niall pouts, and Louis claps him on the shoulder with a snort. “I’ve been glad to get away from you. Needed a breather,” Louis teases, and smirks as Niall looks affronted. 

Liam is standing near Zayn at the table now, leaving a spot for Louis directly across from him, next to Niall. The remaining men at the table are watching him, varying degrees of smiles on their faces as Louis sits, nodding to the others. “So, to ask the obvious question first. What’s all this about?” He tucks himself closer to the table, taking into account the brief glances the men around him exchange. 

Zayn looks at Louis, his eyes level with Louis’. “How much do you know about Simon’s munitions trade deal with the Russians?” Zayn’s question is straight forward, and takes Louis aback. He raises an eyebrow, and looks to the other men at the table to see if they’re as confused as he is. But, upon immediate glance, they’re all watching him, as unphased as if Zayn had asked if the sky is blue. 

Louis, it would seem, is the odd one out. 

He hates being the odd one out. 

“Apparently nothing. I’d love to be informed,” he quips back, leaning back in his seat, resting his arms on the armrests casually. Liam sighs, propping himself up against the wall. “Come on, Louis. Nobody here’s getting on you for not knowing. If anything, it’s better that you _had_ no idea,” Liam shrugs, and the other men murmur in agreement. Zayn hasn’t taken his eyes off of Louis, seemingly gauging his reactions, and Louis nods slowly. “Please, continue,” he gestures at Zayn, who rolls his shoulders back, settling his elbows on the table. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Russia is in the middle of their civil war, or whatever it is they’re calling it now. Split down the middle between total anarchism, or staying true to the monarchy.” Zayn lights a cigarette as he speaks, and inhales, gesturing for Liam to continue the debriefing.

Liam places a small stack of papers on the table, and pushes them towards Louis as he begins to speak. “A few months ago, the Russians approached Downing Street, asking them for aid. Money, weapons and munitions, that like. The Crown obviously declined, not wanting to put ourselves into another war so soon, but word of that fell upon a few wandering ears.

Apparently, the Russians had offered a handsome package for anyone who was willing to help them get guns, ammunition, and even potentially places to flee the country, should things go badly. 

These only started out as rumours, you see. But these rumours started on the streets, as they do, and soon those rumours turned into secret messages within the even more secret methods of communication. Now, the big rumour is that Simon’s been sending out men to pilfer and wile away at all his benefactors. Oh, and all the little tiffs you were sent to deal with a while ago? Aftermath.” Liam scoffs lightly, and Niall chuckles from where he’s still seated next to Louis. “To think of all the times you showed up at my flat late because Simon sent you on a clean up mission. Bastard,” Niall mutters, and Zayn hums. “At least he didn’t have to go con the people his boss makes him rob from for a hand in support. What a joke _that_ was.” Zayn rolls his eyes, ashing his cigarette on the glass ashtray in front of him, and the other men vocalise their agreement. 

Louis has taken the stack of papers, and is now reading the typed messages, his brow furrowing as he scans the content within the notes. He glances up, holding one of the papers away from him. “This one’s talking about the Shelby’s. Do they know of this?” He asks, and Liam nods in response. “They were the first of us to decline the offer of munitions trading. They thought it was too risky, especially now, what with their whole thing going on in Birmingham.” 

Louis leans back in his chair, biting on his nail thoughtfully. He shuffles the papers in his hand, skimming the fading print, ignoring the conversation continuing from the table next to him. He isn’t really sure what he’s looking for, if anything, but he doesn’t find anything that jumps out at him until Liam clears his throat. 

“There is, also, the Twist issue to resolve.” Liam speaks with a calculated slowness, and Niall quiets down, his eyes moving to Louis. 

Louis’ own eyes quickly land on Liam, who is watching him with a blank, unreadable expression. “What Twist issue?” Louis sharply asks, maybe too sharply, for now the other men have turned to look at him. 

Liam chews on his thoughts for a moment, eyes falling to stare at the papers that Louis’ still has clutched in his hands, and then purses his lips as he meets Louis’ gaze again. 

“The issue with Harry.” 

_Louis tips his head back as the remainder of his whiskey drips down the back of his throat, and he scrunches his nose for a moment against the slight burn._

_“Deine Augen sehen in diesem Licht so blau aus,_ _” he hears a soft voice say. He turns towards that voice, a smile growing on his face as he sees a familiar man standing beside him._

_“Deutsche? Be careful, soldier. Someone may mistake you for the enemy.” Louis turns on the stool he’s perched on, placed at the bar in the middle of a pub as he smirks at the man now leaning next to him._

_“Ah, we wouldn't want that.” The man leans closer to Louis as he speaks, and Louis can smell his faint cologne as he does._

_“Come dance with me,” he murmurs, breath tickling the hair next to Louis’ ear, sending a shiver down Louis’ spine. “Nobody cares here, Louis.” Louis blinks, glancing at the other patrons. Nobody is even batting an eye, choosing instead to keep their own attention to themselves, wholly ignoring the two men standing uncommonly close together at the bar._

_Louis leans away, meeting the eyes of the man as he straightens back up._

_They stay there for a moment, the voices of Kenneth Lyle and Fred W. Leigh crooning through the building around them. Neither of them move, until Louis finds himself being pulled by his hands to an empty spot near the back of the pub, next to the gramophone that is playing a continuous stream of crackly, warbled music._

_They sway, slowly, almost awkwardly, their chests close together, their temples touching. Louis feels hands brush against his waist, holding gently onto his hips._

_“Du bist schön für mich, Louis.” The words send vibrations through Louis’ ear, through his brain, down to the soles of his feet._

_“You’re so, so, beautiful to me.”_

  
  
  


**H**

_“You thought you could go free_

_But the system is done for_

_If you listen real closely_

_There's a knock at your front door…”_

_Blood // Water - Grandson_

Harry kicks up the gravel in front of him, leaning against the car in the long, roundabout drive of the house he’s parked in front of. He looks up as he hears the door in front of him open, and he straightens, brushing the dust from his trousers as he begins walking towards the figure standing in the now open doorway. 

“You’re late, Harold,” a feminine voice calls to him, and Harry fights to keep from rolling his eyes as he mounts the stairs. “You’re the one who didn’t give me a key. I would have been in ages ago.” He crosses the distance between them, and the woman standing in front of him gives him a smirk. “Still as much of a tease as ever. I missed that.” She extends her hand as she speaks, and he takes it, pressing his lips to her knuckles. He lets them linger there for a moment as the pleasant smell of her perfume tickles the inside of his nose, and he feels her thumb brush against his cheek. “I supposed I missed a few things about you,” he murmurs against her skin, and she laughs, pulling her hand away. “You’re disgusting. Get inside,” she tugs him in through the door, and he smiles, following her closely as the door closes behind them. 

Harry watches the woman for a moment as she walks ahead. The woman is tall, slender, and beautiful, with delicate features and cunning eyes. Her long, expensive silk dress flows around her body with every step until she stops at a small table resting to one side of the foyer, littered with elegant bottles and glasses. She tucks a loose strand of her brown hair behind her ear, and Harry sticks his hands in his pockets as he draws closer.

“So. How are you, Moira?” he asks, and the woman shrugs, the thin shawl around her shoulders swaying with the motion. “The same. Charles is away ‘on business’, he says.” Moira sighs as she pours whiskey out of a crystalline decanter into two smaller glasses, and Harry hums, coming up behind her as she offers him a glass. “You know you deserve better,” he comments casually as he swirls the whiskey around in the glad before knocking it back in one quick shot. Moira turns to face him, her lip quirked up in a flirtatious smirk as she looks up at him. “Don’t flatter me, Harry. You know you don’t need to grovel.” Her fingers reach out, twisting themselves in Harry’s coat, gently stroking against his chest, and Harry rolls his shoulders back as he steps closer, the smile on his own face growing by only a minuscule amount. “Would I get anything extra if I did, perhaps, flatter and grovel?” He dips his face closer to hers, brushing his lips against her cheekbones, down her jaw, and to her neck, whiskey glass already forgotten on the table beside them. 

Moira chuckles, leaning into his touch, and she sighs as Harry firmly presses his lips into the curve of her neck. “You just might,” she whispers as her hands run up his chest, wrapping around his neck as she begins guiding him through the hallway behind them. 

  
  


Harry sighs, lighting a cigarette as he stretches, fully naked on top of satin sheets, his head leaning against the wooden headboard behind him. Moira hums, resting her head on his bare thigh, and he smiles sleepily down at her, brushing her hair away from her face. “You never disappoint, madam.” He sucks on the burning cigarette as he speaks, and she giggles, pinching his side. “Don’t be crass,” she says as she shakes her head, and wraps herself in one of the loosely strewn blankets. He turns away, smirking as he exhales, and his eyes fall to the window on the far wall. The sky is dark and grey, and Harry can see lights beginning to flicker on outside. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room are the ticking clock, and their breathing. 

He thinks about the woman lying next to him in the king sized bed, her long hair wrapped around his fingers as he strokes her cheek. Moira is a long time friend, married to one of Wesley’s largest contributors of the financial kind. She claims she only married Charles for the money, but she comes from a long line of old money, and would be just as well off having never married to begin with - which Harry tells her. Constantly. She has eyes and ears all over this city and the next, and she knows things about people before they know themselves. Her father had given Charles a devil sized dowry for her, including the opulent estate they’re in now. He needn’t have bothered, though, as Charles has spent more time away from it than living in it. She’s proven to be a handy asset to Wes, and she’s a welcome distraction for Harry in regards to his father’s general existence. 

And the fun thing is that no matter who they may be seeing, or what circumstances may come between them, they always find themselves coming back to each other in the end. And Harry can’t deny that he likes it that way.

“I’ve got to head back to London tomorrow.” Harry breaks the silence with those words, and Moira shifts, propping her chin in her hands as she looks up at him. “Alright. I won’t be seeing you again for a few weeks, then?” She reaches out for the cigarette, and Harry nods as he hands it over to her. “A few months, most likely. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it away, not with-” Harry cuts himself off, and chews on his lip as he quickly glances to the clock. Moira raises an eyebrow, and blows the smoke in casual clouds above their heads. “Not with what? Your new little roommate?” she asks, taking another quick drag, and Harry blinks at her in surprise. Moira gives him a look of smug knowledge, and the warm but limited light in the room glimmers on her skin as she sits up, wrapping the sheet tighter around herself. “You think I wouldn’t know who you’re living with? Darling, I make it my business to know everything about everyone, you’re no exception,” she tuts, and Harry takes the cigarette away from her with a glare. “Fine, then. How much do you know?” He shifts, facing her more fully, and she rolls her eyes. “Enough to know that you’ve somehow managed to make him tolerate you. I heard he’s actually quite fit. Very muscular. Is that true?” Moira fiddles with the sheet, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, and Harry feels his cheeks grow warm against his will. He looks past her to the clock on the wall, watching the hand move as he takes another drag from the cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. 

He won’t lie. Louis isn’t the worst looking man he’s ever come across. If anything, he’s one of the better looking ones. But there’s an odd sort of… aura around Louis. It’s almost as if there’s a threshold he refuses to let people cross, and while Harry is never one to back out of a chase, he doesn’t feel like it would end well on either end. So no matter how fit or muscular Louis is, he’s a co-worker. 

(A co-worker who reads Harry’s copy of Wuthering Heights and leaves notes of critique on pieces of paper inside the pages, and who lives in Harry’s home, but a co-worker all the same.)

Harry shrugs. “It’s true. You know I only work with the best, though, so what of it?” His answer is greeted with yet another eye-roll from Moira, who snatches the cigarette away from him. “You’re such a twat sometimes. You should bring him round, I’d like to meet him.” Moira blows the smoke into Harry’s face, and he scowls playfully, waving it away from him. “Why, so you can try and sink your bejewelled fingers into him too? I don’t think so, pet.” Harry swings his legs over the bed, feeling the crack in his joints as he takes a few steps away to grab his trousers from the floor. 

“Where are you going?” Moira asks, and he can hear the pout on her lips through her words. He turns to face the bed after he pulls his trousers on, buttoning them as he walks back to her with a small smile. “To fetch my little roommate, if you must know. Don’t want to be any later, he’s probably a bit fucked off at me already.” He crawls back onto the bed, and she giggles as he leans above her, bracing himself on his elbows as he presses a kiss to her nose. 

“Ring me when you’re home?” she whispers, wrapping her fingers around his bicep, and he hums, closing his eyes as he inhales the soft, lingering scent of the perfume on her neck. “As always,” he murmurs, and he feels her lips briefly press against his temple. 

After he gathers all his things, Moira follows him out of the room, still wrapped in the satin sheet that is dragging on the floor as she walks. Tugging on his coat, he gives her a wink before pulling the door open, the cold air rushing around them. “Go put clothes on, you minx,” he smirks as he makes his way down the stairs, and he hears a soft giggle from behind him. When he gets to his car, he turns around once more, and his eyes widen as he watches the sheet drop to her feet, before a loud, bell like laugh rings over the courtyard, and the door slams shut in front of her body. 

Harry rolls his eyes, shaking his head with a chuckle as he pulls his door open, the wind pushing against him as he starts the car with a loud rumble. 

_Harry fiddles with his cufflinks, scowling down at them as he fumbles with the small hooks. He hears a deep chuckle from behind him, and he glances up, a strand of his hair fallin in front of his eyes._

_“About time you showed up. And in a full suit? This must be an important event.” The man approaching him gives him a half smirk, and Harry sighs, shooting his cuffs once or twice. “Not every day your sister gets married, Joe.” Harry straightens as he looks at himself in the mirror and Joe wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders as he speaks. “It’s a good thing, H. You know it is.”_

_Harry meets the other man’s eyes in the mirror, and he shrugs. “Yeah, if you call getting sold off like a prize cow a good thing,” he mutters under his breath, and Jpe snorts. “C’mon, lad. The Fry’s aren’t all bad. Only the bloody Scottsmen you have to worry about, and they’re all stuck in a trench somewhere.”_

_Harry rolls his eyes at Joe’s words, and lets him guide them out of the room, nodding greetings at the people scattered about outside._

_Not long after, they’re standing inside a church, and Harry is smiling at his sister, who is standing next to a tall man dressed in his Sunday best. Her dark hair is in stark contrast to the white dress and veil she wears, and Harry can see her nervous smile appear from underneath the veil as the man lifts it gently. Harry stares at him, his chest growing tight as he watches the man’s eyes widen for a brief moment before he takes her hands once again, following the vows that the priest is saying before them._

_He’s watching as they repeat the vows to one another, their smiles growing with each word, and Harry closes his eyes for the moment the man presses his lips to hers._

_They’re closed when the crack of the gun goes off._

_They’re closed when the stain of red blooms over the white of her dress._

_They’re open again to watch his sister crumple to the ground, her hands clutching her middle as her eyes fall on Harry._

_They’re open as the crowd begins to roar, and more gunshots sound. They’re open as he races to where she’s lying next to her husband-to-be, already still on the ground. They’re open as he pulls her into his lap, his words nothing but senseless sobs as he tries to stop the bleeding with his hands. They’re open as she wraps her blood stained fingers around his, and squeezes once._

_They’re open as hers drift shut. They’re open as her small frame goes limp and lifeless._ _  
__Harry doesn’t move. There he sits, among the gunshots and screams and chaos._

_There he sits, with his sister in his arms, stroking her face as the sobs wreck through his body._

_He won’t let go of her as hands begin to drag him away, lifting her with him as they move through the church. He doesn’t let her go until they’re back home, back in her childhood bedroom._

_He doesn’t once leave her side. He doesn’t say a word._

_To anyone._

  
  


**L**

_“Now you pick up all the love_

_When the push comes to shove_

_See you had about enough_

_But, you still call my bluff.”_

_‘Speak Of The Devil’ - Black Pistol Fire_

Louis stuffs a roll in his mouth as he glares across the table, chewing harder as the laughter grates down on his nerves. Niall glances at him, and wordlessly tosses him another roll with a smirk. “Y’alright down there, soldier? Don’t eat all the rations before week’s end,” Niall teases, and the other people at the table turn their heads to look at Louis. Louis’ glare deepens as he briefly meets Harry’s eyes, one of his eyebrows quirked in amusement. “You’re such a laugh, Niall. Maybe instead of a hit man, you should be a comedian. Much more lucrative profession, I’m sure.” Louis snaps, and Amelia snorts. “We both know that his comedy skill set ends at the dinner table,” she stands up, brushing her lap as she speaks, and grabs the empty plates from around her. Niall quickly follows (exchanging a look with Harry as he leaves, Louis notices), and then he and Harry are alone, both at opposite ends of the table. 

Harry is watching him with a levelled gaze, chewing on a spare green bean. Louis slumps farther in his chair, pulling off a piece of the roll Niall had thrown at him, and scowls wordlessly. Harry sighs, and Louis can hear utensils and dishes clink under Niall and Amelia’s quiet chatter from the kitchen. “I’m not driving back to London with you if-” Harry begins, but Louis cuts him off with a scornful laugh. “Of course you’re not. Along with a multitude of other things, but I guess we’ll just sweep that under the bloody rug too, then.” Louis rolls his eyes with a scoff, and Harry blinks at him, still chewing on the final piece of the green bean.  
“I was going to say I’m not driving back with you if you’re going to plan my convenient murder the whole way. But now it seems we have another issue.” Harry pushes his plate out of the way, and folds his arms on the table as he focuses on Louis. Louis squirms under Harry’s scrutiny, and he straightens, sitting at his fullest as he glares right back at Harry, his mouth set in a firm frown. “What else is new? We’ve had nothing _but_ issues, if you haven’t noticed.” Louis digs his nails into his palms as he rests them on the table, and Harry chuckles. “Oh, I’ve noticed, mate. But this isn’t just a matter of you hating me, is it?” Harry’s voice is calm, and for some reason it makes Louis that much more angry.

“It’s sure a big fucking part of it,” Louis spits, and shoves away from the table, intending on storming past Harry into the other end of the flat, but Harry stands, grabbing him firmly around the bicep. “What’s wrong with you Louis?” Harry hisses, his calm demeanour almost slipping away, and Louis laughs in mocking disbelief. “You’re asking what’s wrong with me? Why don’t you start with telling me why the _fuck_ you didn’t think to tell me about the plan you have with your father?” Louis’ voice has risen, almost to a yell, and Harry stares at him, his grip on Louis’ arm not loosening, “Did you just think it wasn’t important to mention? Like it wouldn’t affect _my_ whole fucking life?” Louis shoves Harry away, and Harry goes easily, stepping back as he continues to stare at Louis, his jaw set as Louis notices the vein in his neck begins to throb. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis can see Niall appear in the doorway from the kitchen, but he stays quiet. Louis raises his eyebrows expectantly, and Harry stands still for another moment, before cocking his head back in the direction of the bedroom. Louis follows him as he spins on his heel, turning away from Louis and not looking back. “You’d better leave that room the way you found it, lads,” Niall calls after them, but Louis ignores him as he enters the room that Harry is already occupying, closing the door firmly behind him. “I don’t see what you needed to say that needed an entire room of privacy, Harry. You’re not that entitled, you know.” Louis stuffs his hands in his pockets, balling his fists at his side as he looks to where Harry is standing, looking out the window to the moonlight sky. Harry doesn’t say a word, and Louis’ eyebrows furrow again. 

“You need to tell me what you heard, Louis. And you need to tell me who told you.” Harry’s words are the same calm they were at the dinner table, but Louis can feel a sense of urgency hidden underneath. 

Along with that sense of urgency, Louis feels… unsure. Nothing about the way Harry has reacted so far is what he expected. He expected words, if not blows, over even the mention of the subject. But so far, Harry has been quiet, stoic, and hasn’t demanded but one thing from Louis.

“Why does any of that matter?” Louis leans against the wall, entirely across the room from Harry, who doesn’t move. “Because if he finds out that other people know, there’s going to be bigger problems than just you being put out,” Harry sighs. “Louis, please just tell me. Did you hear it from Marcus?” Harry asks, and Louis shakes his head, his mind infiltrated by a thread of confusion. “No. No, I-” Louis starts, but stops again as Harry moves to face him, his face sober and serious. “What?” Louis keeps his voice soft, and Harry looks down at the floor. 

“My father and I made a contingency plan a few years ago,” he says, glancing at Louis. “It’s a plan for if… things ever go badly. Again.” He turns back to the window, and Louis can see his shoulders stiffen. “We’ve had issues with some folks from the north for years. You’ve heard of the Frys? Some out of Glasgow, most out of Blackpool?” He paused for Louis to nod curtly in response, and he continues. “There was a power struggle a few years back. Someone fought someone else’s brother, brought the whole load down. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, really. Until word spread, and… Well, my father had already sorted for that type of situation.” Harry clears his throat, slipping his hands in his pocket. 

Louis watches him as he stands silently, gauging every subtle movement, waiting. Harry hasn’t moved much, instead looking at Louis with only his eyes, or looking back outside. “He had made his own plan with my sister. The only thing that the Fry’s needed but didn’t have was a solid tie to the city, and we could give them that. In exchange for an agreement in our terms and ground, they’d get a wedding.” Harry’s last few words turn sour, and he relaxes his shoulders as he speaks. 

“The day of their wedding, she’d still not met the bloke. We’d heard he was a real stiff, tall and burly, a proper Scotsman,” Harry laughs softly to himself. “And that he was. But he seemed nice enough, you know? He seemed like he’d be a right fit with us.” Harry’s shoulders fall even further then, almost seeming to curl in on himself. 

As Harry leans against the wall, his face growing colder, Louis realises that he’s never seen Harry like this. In the time they’ve known each other, he’s seen him angry, he’s seen him upset, he’s seen him happy, but he’s never seen him… broken. Because that’s the only word Louis can use to describe Harry right now as he stands across from him, arms crossing over his chest, hair falling over his forehead, eyes absently staring at a spot on the floor, mouth pursed painfully. 

Utterly, irreversibly broken. 

“Someone from their family,” Harry sniffs, wiping his cheek, “some distant relative, I still don’t really know, didn’t approve. They thought Fry was betraying his family by letting his son marry a Twist daughter. So they,” Harry pauses, knocking his head back with a watery sigh, “they dealt with it in the way they thought was best. Which was to kill my sister. In front of everyone.” 

Louis stares across the room, his mouth shut firmly as he watches Harry compose himself, rubbing his face with a huff. “They shot her, the husband, and my father’s right hand. The shooter was dealt with before anyone else was injured, but the damage was already done. They didn’t get their wedding, we kept our land. But Wesley didn’t exactly see that as a loss.” Harry is no longer letting his emotions get the better of him, and is instead standing straight, with his hands clasped behind his back, looking intently at Louis. 

“I made a pact that if anything were to happen, I’d be the head of the family. We can’t afford to let anyone else in, which is why I was so against this,” Harry gestures between himself and Louis, “to begin with. It’s sensitive, and very few people know about it. For the better, because we can’t risk any defiance. Not right now.

So again, I’m going to ask. Who told you, and what else do they know?”

  
  


_“Come on, Louis. I’m getting married, not moving to America.”_

_“You’re still leaving me, Lotts. Why can’t you just, I don’t know, hold off a few years? We can go to the country?”_

_“I’m not going to wait, Lou.”_

_“I know. Just figured it was worth a try.”_

_“You know I love you? And I’d still die for you?”_

_“Oh, Louis. Always one for the dramatics. I love you too, big brother.”_

  
  


**H**

Harry pushes the door to Niall’s flat building open as his eyes begin to burn. Pawing at his eyes as he walks, he feels a sob well in his chest, and he picks up his pace as the tears begin to stream steadily. 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” he whispers to himself, wiping his face. He hadn’t planned on this. How could he have? His whole facade, his whole persona, his whole life crumbling down in some ratty apartment in front of someone he barely knows? He hadn’t planned on any of this. 

Harry slows down the farther he gets from the building, and he pushes his hair off of his face as the crisp night wind blows around him. He breathes in deeply, the cold air hurting his nose as he closes his eyes, lifting his face to the sky. He stands, frozen, feeling the cold begin to seep into his body. When he opens his eyes again, they open to the moon, sitting above him, casting clean light across the street. He stares at it, his hands lying limp at his sides. 

_Wherever you are, wherever you go, you can look up at the moon, and I’ll be there. No matter what_. His sister’s voice echoes around in his head, and he inhales shakily, his breath catching. 

“You’re a liar,” he whispers, his quiet words quickly taken away by a gust of wind that sends pieces of leaves and paper scattering around his feet. 

“You’re both liars.” 


End file.
